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The young girl, with all the intensity of her nature, 
was at work. 


Maggie McLanehan 


BY 

GULIELMA ZOLLINGER 

Author of 

“Thb Widow O’Callaghan’s Boys” 






> > 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG AND CO. 
1901 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 
Two CoHbtt Received 

OCT, 4 1901 

COPVHMHT ENTRY 

CLASS A XXc. NO. 
COPY B. 



Copyright 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1901 


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ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

THE YOUNG GIRL WITH ALL THE INTENSITY 

OF HER NATURE WAS AT WORK. Frontispiece 

“none but a loony would put it there” I 15 

“i’ll READ it” 179 

“ i’ll walk on THE EDGES OF THE FIELDS,” 

HE GROWLED 251 

AN EVENING OF GOSSIP 287 



Maggie McLanehan 


CHAPTER I 

N TEAR the heart of the Mid-West town 
T ^ of Teepleton, in one of several houses 
which yet remained to tell the tale of when the 
town was smaller, lived Maggie McLanehan, 
and she was fifteen years old. To her cousin 
Bill, however, who lived two blocks distant 
in a similar house, she seemed aged, because 
she was always checking him in his mischief. 

‘‘Ah, there! don’t you do that again,” 
she had said only the day before, when Bill 
McLanehan, who was three years younger 
than herself, had playfully thrown a soft 
mudball at a passing stranger. “ ’Tis the 
town will soon be down on the very name of 
McLanehan, for who is it besides yourself 
would want to be hit with mud? ’Tis no use 
saying it’s soft and don’t hurt. It spoils the 
9 


Maggie McLanehan 


clothes, so it does, and other folks cares about 
that, if you don’t/’ 

‘‘ You’re older nor your grandmother,” 
retorted Bill, lounging off. 

‘‘ That’s neither here nor there,” called 
Maggie after him. “ Don’t you throw any 
more mud.” 

Then she sedately walked into her own 
domicile of one room, where she cooked, ate, 
slept, and took care of her small cousin, 
Nora Garity. Mrs. Garity,who had now been 
dead two weeks, had hired this room in the 
small house, and had lived there honest and 
self-respecting, toiling for her orphan niece, 
Maggie, and her own small daughter, and 
Maggie was determined to keep the room 
and bring up her little cousin — a decision 
which Mrs. Cloonon, who, with her husband 
and children, occupied the rest of the house, 
thoroughly approved. But in the Dave 
McLanehan home there were other plans 
afoot this pleasant day toward the end of June, 
and in the early evening Mr. McLanehan 
came to remonstrate with his niece. “You 
can’t be stayin’ here,” objected Mr. Me- 


Maggie McLanehan 

Lanehan. “You'd best come home with 
me." 

“Thankin’ you kindly," returned Maggie, 
“ it’s right here I’m goin’ to stay, where Aunt 
Maggie lived before me." 

Now Mr. Dave McLanehan was a great, 
burly, shiftless man who never could keep 
but one idea before his mind at one time, and 
who was very much under the influence of 
his wife, Bridget. He therefore stuck to his 
text, and, while he insisted, artlessly revealed 
his wife’s plans. “ You can’t be stayin’ here," 
said Mr. Dave McLanehan. “ What will 
you be livin’ on? Most like you never 
thought of that, now, for sure, it’s not 
for young folks to be thinkin’ anyway ; 
’tis their part to mind their olders and bet- 
ters. Come home with me and leave the 
wee Nora there with Bridget, and then you 
can go out to service and earn your own liv- 
in’ and Nora’s keep besides. And then, them 
times when your mistress gives you a half 
day off you can step in and help your Aunt 
Bridget. She’s almost wore out, she said." 

To this tempting offer Maggie listened 


Maggie McLanehan 


with inward disdain, but she answered po- 
litely, “ ril just stay here, as I said. Uncle 
Dave.’* 

‘^You’re terrible obstinate,” growled Mr. 
McLanehan, ‘‘and your Aunt Bridget mis- 
trusted you would be. But she said I was 
to bring you back with me anyway. So, get 
your hat and the little Nora, and to-morrow 
we’ll be sendin’ for the furniture and things 
your Aunt Maggie left.” 

But Maggie was firm, and no words of 
her uncle’s could move her. “ She told me 
to bring you back with me,” he said finally. 
“ I don’t know what she’ll say, but I’m likely 
to be findin’ out when I step in without you.” 
And, rising, he departed. 

Maggie looked after him. “ And will I 
go there?” she said to herself, “to live in 
the house with that Bill and the rest of ’em, 
and little Nora learning their bad ways ? In- 
deed, and I’ll not. I’m to earn my own liv- 
ing and Nora’s, and I’ll do it right here.” 

Mrs. Garity had not been sick long, and 
there had been no heavy expenses. She had 
been provident, and now that all bills were 


Maggie McLanehan 


paid, there still remained five dollars for 
Maggie and Nora to begin the world upon. 
‘‘Sure, and if Uncle Dave knew that, he’d 
want to borrow it, so he would,” she said. 
“He’s a great one for borrowing and never 
paying, and I know it, if he is my uncle. 
I’m not wishin’ him any harm, but I am 
wishing he’d lay a stick over Bill’s back once 
in a while. ’Twould do him some good. I’m 
thinking. Aunt Maggie always said it would, 
anyway.” Then she called the little Nora to 
her, kissed her fondly and put her to bed. 
“Sleep well, my darling,” she said. “I’m 
your mother and your cousin Maggie, too, 
now, and you shan’t suffer need unless I do 
myself.” 

The next morning Maggie was up be- 
times, and putting her head out of the 
window, she gazed up and down the street. 
But no life or movement did she see except 
among the chattering sparrows, now busy in 
the dust, now flying aloft to the eaves of the 
buildings or the branches of the trees. It 
was too early for the business men to be 
passing to their stores; too early for the la- 


Maggie McLanehan 


boring men to be on the streets with their 
dinner pails in their hands on their way to 
work. Even the redoubtable Bill and his 
brothers were still asleep in their beds. 

But though Maggie’s world seemed as 
empty of opportunities as the street was of 
passers, even while she looked her situation 
squarely in the face, she refused to be cast 
down. ‘‘Sure, and the air’s good, anyway, 
and there is plenty of it, too,” she said. 
“But I’m wondering what I can get to do. 
It’s one thing to talk big to Uncle Dave and 
another quite to make a living. I’m afraid. 
I can’t go out to day’s work like Aunt Mag- 
gie, for I’ve got nobody to leave Nora with 
every day, and all day long, and her only 
three years old. Aunt Maggie had me, but 
I’ve got nobody.” 

Again the sparrows attracted her atten- 
tion. “ Look at them sparrow birds, now,” 
she said. “ Sure, and they’re no sort of birds 
at all. Always in the dirt, they are, and they 
mind me of Bill, so they do. There’s times 
when a body has to get into the dirt more or 
less, but let ’em go into it like the pigeons, 
14 


Maggie McLanehan 


that keeps out of it some way, after all, and 
not be right into it like them sparrow birds. 
I’m told they’d ever be driving their betters 
among the birds, too, and sure and that’s like 
Bill. No, ’twould never do to put the little 
Nora to Uncle Dave’s to live. Aunt Mag- 
gie wouldn’t like it, for Uncle Dave’s folks 
is no kin to her and Nora, and she never 
wanted anything to do with ’em.” 

There was now a brisk stir in the adjoin- 
ing room, a rattling down of the grate of 
the cooking stove, and a great hurrying with 
kindling and coal, for Mrs. Cloonon had 
overslept, and was likely to be late with her 
husband’s breakfast. 

Maggie smiled with pleasure at the homely 
sounds, all unconcerned as to the outcome, 
for she knew capable Mrs. Cloonon well 
enough to be certain that at a quarter to sev- 
en Mr. Cloonon would be off as usual. The 
Cloonons had been Mrs. Garity’s firm friends, 
although they had known her only a year 
before she died ; that is, Mrs. Cloonon had 
been, while her husband and daughter and 
two sons had looked on without much inter- 


Maggie McLanehan 

est. And Maggie, as she listened this morn- 
ing to the bustling in the Cloonon kitchen, 
took heart, knowing that there was one per- 
son in the world she could depend upon. 

Now, Mrs. Cloonon, in common with the 
rest of the neighborhood, held the Dave 
McLanehan family in great disfavor. She 
had heard Mr. McLanehan’s fine offer to his 
niece made the evening before, the walls being 
thin, all the windows open, and Mr. McLan- 
ehan’s voice loud and hearty. And she had 
heard it with indignation. 

“And a great offer that is!” she said to 
herself, when Mr. McLanehan had gone, dis- 
appointed, to his home. “ He’d be makin’ 
a slave of the girl, and worry her to death 
besides. I’m glad she’s got more sense than 
to go with him. There’s them, no doubt, 
that will say, ^ But he’s her uncle.’ What if 
he is? All the uncles in the world ain’t good 
by a long shot, or we’d be short on bad men, 
so we would, which we ain’t now. I’d like 
to be doing something for Maggie myself just 
to show her that I know it when a girl’s got 
sense. And I will, too, if I get but a chance.” 

i6 


Maggie McLanehan 


If Maggie could have known that it was 
a prolonged mental search after a chance to 
her liking that had kept worthy Mrs. Cloo- 
non awake, the bustling about of her neigh- 
bor would have still more encouraged her 
heart. 

But now there were voices in the kitchen. 
Mr. Cloonon was eating his breakfast and 
being cheered up for his daily toil by the 
pleasant talk of his wife. At the sound, 
tears came to Maggie’s eyes. There were no 
cheerful voices on her side of that dividing 
door. No voice but her own prattling to 
Nora, and no one but herself to delight in the 
child’s pretty ways. ‘Tt’s Aunt Maggie I 
want,” said the young girl, under her breath. 

But I can’t have her, so I can’t,” she added 
bravely. “ I must brace up and look for my 
chance.” 

That very morning Maggie’s first chance 
was on its way, coming to her door, as 
chances more commonly do than most people 
believe. 

The charitably-inclined ladies of Teeple- 
ton had a few weeks before started a manual 


17 


Maggie McLanehan 


labor training school for the poor of the 
town. But the poor, instead of crowding in, 
as it had been hoped they would do, held 
persistently aloof, and showed so little interest 
that the ladies were glad to permit the trans- 
ference of membership cards, and to welcome 
anybody who presented one of their tickets 
to any class. The forenoon was half gone, 
and Mrs. Cloonon, who thirsted to do Mag- 
gie a kindness, was straightening out her top 
bureau drawer, when she came across her own 
daughter’s ticket to the cooking class. Has- 
tily she caught it up and went into Maggie’s 
room. ‘‘ Here’s a bit of pleasure for you, 
Maggie, dear,” she cried. ‘‘Off with you 
to the cooking class on my Mollie’s ticket ! 
’Tis Mollie can’t abide the cooking, so you 
can go as well as not, and I’ll keep little Nora 
the while.” 

Maggie hesitated. A cooking class might 
be a pleasant place, but she had only Mollie 
Cloonon’s scornful word concerning it, and 
she was not attracted. 

“ ’Tis ’most time now,” insisted Mrs. 
Cloonon. “To be sure a cooking class ain’t 

i8 


Maggie McLanehan 

a circus ; far from it, but it’s better than stay- 
ing to home all the time. So off with you, 
and who knows what’ll come of it ? ” 

Thus urged, Maggie set off, thinking as 
she walked soberly along how she did not 
know of a single thing she could do to earn 
money, burdened as she was with little Nora. 
She had been a few terms to the public school, 
and there were many things she could do 
after a fashion, but the only one task at 
which she was an adept was caring for Nora. 
“ I’ll not give her up,” she declared stoutly; 
“come what may. I’ll not give her up. 
Aunt Maggie was awful good to me, and I’d 
be the mean one, that didn’t deserve what she 
done for me if I wouldn’t do for Nora, now 
it’s my turn.” 

So thinking, she arrived at the class-room, 
entered, and sat down. Presently the teacher 
came in — a stout, amiable woman, who was 
that morning to give a lesson on cooking 
beefsteak. And as she took her place, Maggie 
was amazed to see the indifference displayed 
around her. “ Sure, there’s more than Mol- 
lie Cloonon down on the cooking, to judge 


19 


Maggie McLanehan 

by the look of it,’* she said to herself. ‘‘ I 
wonder what they come for, seeing they care 
naught about it? But maybe ’tis for the 
same reason Mrs. Cloonon sent me, because 
’tis better than going nowhere.” 

Now Maggie, besides being unusually 
intelligent, was also innately polite. Instinc- 
tively she put herself in the teacher’s place, 
and, through sympathy, she gave her atten- 
tion. I’ll not be the one to be gawping 
around and hurting her feelings,” she said. 
‘‘ There’s plenty to do that without my help- 
ing ’em.” 

And so it was that, when the lesson 
was over, Maggie was sure she could cook 
beefsteak. 

‘^And I wonder what good that will be 
to me ? ” she said to herself as she started 
home. With only five dollars, and no way 
to earn, ’twill be little beefsteak I can buy 
to cook.” 

Just then her eyes rested on a window 
of the house she was passing, where a card 
was stuck up announcing that dressmaking 
was done within. “Now that’s an idea,” 


20 


Maggie McLanehan 

she said. “ Td stick a card in my window 
if I had anything to put on it.” 

She walked on a few steps, pondering. “ I 
believe I will stick one up,” she said. “ For 
them that knows me in Teepleton are few, 
and them that knows Fm wanting to earn 
are fewer. And Til put on it ‘Beefsteak 
Well Cooked for Hire.* That would be an 
elegant sign. And if nobody wanted steak 
cooked, everybody would see that the one 
inside wanted work. For if I had only on 
the sign, ‘Work Wanted,* everybody that 
seen it would say, ‘What work? She don*t 
know herself, so most like she can do little, 
if she can*t do less.* But seeing I can cook 
beefsteak, *twill be like *em to wonder what 
else I can do, and knock on the door to see.** 


21 


CHAPTER II 


S she turned into Market street and 



drew near her own door, the little Nora 
spied her and came running to meet her with 
eager arms outspread and a cry of “Maggie! 
Maggie !” 

“I must brace up, and be getting my sign 
in the window as soon as I can for Nora's 
sake," thought the young girl, while her 
brilliant dark-blue eyes sparkled with pleas- 
ure at the sight of her affectionate little cousin. 

Not that day, however, nor for several 
days thereafter, was the sign to be made and 
put up. Mrs. Cloonon had news for her, 
which she began to impart the moment 
Maggie's foot touched the threshold. 

“ 'Tis yourself that's in luck," was her 
greeting, as she appeared with a flushed face 
and cook-fork in hand. “Hardly had you 
gone stepping off to the cooking class, and 
you was barely out of sight round the corner. 


22 


Maggie McLanehan 


when who should come driving up to the 
door but that there truck gardener’s son, 
Ezra Haymaker they call him. And sure 
that’s his name, his father being Mr. Hay- 
maker and his mother Mrs. Haymaker, to 
say nothing of a lot more children the Hay- 
makers has got. And pretty fair children 
they are, too, as I’ve been told. But come 
in, Maggie, and don’t stand there in the 
door, for you must hurry and get you a bite 
and be off, for I’ve promised for you.” 

Maggie stared bewildered ; seeing which, 
Mrs. Cloonon went half-impatiently on: 
“Wasn’t I just telling you how Ezra Hay- 
maker drove up to the door in his father’s 
wagon and not half a load in it, seeing he’d 
sold the rest before he got here? And I 
hurried out so’s not to keep him waiting, 
for boys that has to sell things don’t care 
much about being kept waiting, nor any 
other kind of boys neither. That’s the 
main difference between boys and girls. I’m 
thinking. The boys don’t want to wait a 
minute for anything, but the girls, now, 
they’re more patient, which is lucky, since 
23 


Maggie McLanehan 


they’ve got plenty of waiting to do of one 
kind or another. So out I hurries and I 
says, ‘ I don’t want to buy nothing to-day.’ 
And that same wasn’t quite the truth neither, 
for I’d have been buying fast enough, only 
my money was run out, and borrow I won’t, 
nor get things charged neither. For who 
knows what’ll happen by the time the bill’s 
brought in, if not before? I’ve heard of 
more than one person that didn’t pay their 
debts till after they was dead; and they 
didn’t pay ’em then neither, for they was 
paid by them that come after them, children 
and so on, whoever happened to have the 
money to pay with. 

“And the Haymaker boy, he says, ‘Sorry 
you don’t want to buy, ma’am,’ as polite as 
if I’d been as rich as anybody. ‘But don’t 
there a girl live here called Maggie Mc- 
Lanehan?’ 

“ ‘Sure and there does,’ I says, ‘and a fine 
girl she is.’ 

“He nodded his head and flicked his 
whip like, but the horses understood well 
he was only passing the time, and never 

24 


Maggie McLanehan 

budged. They ain’t the budging kind any- 
way, them horses ain’t, as anybody knows 
as has seen ’em. Still they’re all very well 
in their place, and hauls peas and beans and 
such reasonable good. 

“But don’t be staring so, Maggie. You 
look ’most daft, and I a-telling you faithful 
every single thing, so’s you’ll understand it 
and not have to imagine a lot that never 
happened, just to make this and that jibe. 
That’s the way a-many does, Maggie, and a 
pretty lot of mischief they does, too, with 
their imagination ; for imagination’s a danger- 
ous thing, Maggie, in the heads of fools. 
It’s made out honest folks to be all sorts of 
reprobates before this. And that’s why I 
always tell everything there is to tell, that 
is, when it’s best (and often it’s best to keep 
everything ^o yourself), and then when I’m 
through with ’em, there’s nothing for ’em to 
imagine. Not that you’re a fool, Maggie, 
but you’re young, and so needing to hear all 
or nothing. So the Haymaker boy, he 
flicked his whip like, and he says, ‘Where 
is she ? ’ meaning you, Maggie. 

25 


Maggie McLanehan 


“ ‘ Gone a-pleasurin’ a bit to the cooking 
class/ says I. 

“ ‘When will she be back?’ says he. 

“ ‘In a jiffy/ says 1, ‘for she’s just gone, 
and the cooking class never lasts more than 
an hour or an hour and a half at the outside. 
Then she’ll start home, and if she don’t stop 
gazing about her in the streets she’ll be here 
immediate.’ 

“He looked ahead of him a minute, like 
he was reckoning up how much a peck and 
a half of peas and a dozen ears of green corn 
would come to, and says he, ‘I reckon she’ll 
be back about half-past eleven, then?’ 

“‘Sure and she will,’ says I. 

“‘Tell her to be out to our house by 
one, then, to pick peas for the morning’s 
market. We’re short a hand.’ 

“ ‘I will,’ says I ; ‘but I thought you 
picked peas in the morning, getting up before 
day.’ 

“‘Some does,’ he says, ‘but we don’t. 
‘Pick ’em comfortable,’ we says, ‘in the after- 
noon.’ I mistrust he’s never done none 
of the pea-picking by his saying ‘pick ’em 
26 


Maggie McLanehan 


comfortable’ when there’s no comfort to it 
but the money you make by it. But you 
mustn’t be discouraged, Maggie dear, for the 
same can be said of a many other things. 
But that’s neither here nor there, for I was 
telling you what he said. ‘They’ll suit well 
enough everybody but a few cranky custom- 
ers,’ he says, ‘and them we humors by pick- 
ing for ’em in the morning.’ 

“And here it is now fifteen minutes to 
twelve, so hurry and get your bite and be 
off, for it’s a fine chance for you as ever was, 
barring the backache you’re sure to get 
a-stooping down a-picking.” 

Away Mrs. Cloonon bustled to give her 
boiling meat some needed attention, but in 
a moment she was back again. Maggie 
looked soberly at her. She saw that it was 
indeed a fine chance that had come to her, 
but she did not see how she could take it. 
“There’s Nora,” she said. “What shall I 
do with her? ” 

“Take her with you, to be sure. I 
thought of it, for I thought of everything, 
the same as if I’d been drowning instead of 
27 


Maggie McLanehan 


standing on my own two feet in the street. 
And I says to that Ezra that you’d have to 
bring her, for there was no other way. ‘I’d 
be glad to keep her if I could,’ I says, ‘but 
I’m that busy to-day with extra work that I 
can’t, for a three-year-old is into mischief 
continual — that is,’ I says, catching myself 
up quick, for I didn’t want to spoil your 
chance, ‘when she’s away from Maggie. 
When she’s with Maggie,’ I says, ‘she’s that 
obedient that there couldn’t nothing drive 
her to do wrong no more than you can drive 
a pig and get him to go where you want 
him. She won’t bother you none,’ says I. 

“ ‘All right,’ he says. ‘We’ll try her and 
see.’ He’s got a long head on him from 
selling so many cabbages and things. He 
don’t make no long unconditioned bargains. 
He says, ‘We’ll try her and see.’ ” 

“But,” broke in Maggie, “I’ll have to 
walk a mile. I can do it, but how ever can 
I get Nora there ? ” 

“Sure, and I’ve thought of that, too,” 
said Mrs. Cloonon in triumph. “ But come 
to the inner door, so’s I can be setting the 

28 


Maggie McLanehan 

table while I’m talking. Tom will be here 
in a minute and I can’t keep him waiting.” 

Maggie, with the little Nora clinging to 
her, obediently drew near the door that 
divided her room from her neighbor’s 
kitchen, and Mrs. Cloonon resumed: “Mrs. 
Kirtey, round the corner, will let you take 
her go-cart on my telling her you wouldn’t 
hurt it a bit in the world, and you’d give her 
a nickel besides for the use of it.” 

Then Maggie’s face brightened. “ You’re 
a friend worth having, Mrs. Cloonon,” she 
cried, “ and I thank you heartily. And now 
Nora and I must eat and be off.” 

Gently she closed the inner door, for the 
noon whistle was blowing, and Molly and the 
two boys had come noisily in for their 
dinner. 

“ Your father’ll be here in a minute. 
Make ready as soon as you can,” Maggie 
heard through the closed door. But she did 
not see Mrs. Cloonon’s smile, nor hear her 
thinking: “ Maggie’s the one to be helping ! 
She has the sense to know when a body’s 
done her a good turn.” 

29 


Maggie McLanehan 


In Maggie’s room the frugal lunch of 
bread and butter and molasses was hurriedly 
eaten, then the go-cart was brought, and a 
happy girl Maggie went walking out to the 
Haymaker truck gardens with all sorts of 
visions dancing before her. Her Uncle 
Dave’s wife looked after her with a frowning 
face as she passed. ‘H’ll have that girl 
yet,” she said. “ I know what’s in her bet- 
ter than Dave does. She’s no McLanehan. 
She takes after her mother’s people. And 
they’re money-makers, every one of ’em. 
Where other folks would starve, they’d make 
a livin’.” 

Meanwhile, Maggie hurried on, scarce 
hearing Nora’s chatter. “ I’m glad my sign 
ain’t done yet,” she thought, ‘^for when it is, 
there’ll not only be beefsteak cooking on it, 
but I’ll put on it, ‘Things Picked for Hire,’ 
as well. Between having two kinds of work 
I can do, I ought to be earning something. 
And I’ll make the sign so’s I can add to it. 
For who knows how many more things I’ll 
find out I can do ?” 

Then her face saddened. “Poor Aunt 
30 


Maggie McLanehan 


Maggie !’* she thought. “ She’d be proud 
to see this day and the luck that’s coming to 
me. But I have no time to be shedding 
tears for her, so I haven’t. There’s too much 
for me to do.” 

Then she turned to her cousin. ‘‘ Do 
you want to help Maggie, darling?” she 
asked. 

“Yes,” answered the child, eagerly. 

“Then you must mind my every word 
this afternoon. If you’re naughty they won’t 
let Maggie come again to this nice place to 
be earnin’ money for us both.” 

“ I will be good,” promised Nora. 

“ I thought you would, when I told you 
that was the way to help me,” replied Mag- 
gie. “ But here we are. Mind to stay al- 
ways just where I put you, and don’t touch 
anything.” 

Again Nora promised, and the go-cart was 
trundled through the Haymaker gate. 

It was a very warm day, but Maggie 
hardly noticed the heat, she was so eager to 
begin. She had never been in such a place 
before, but, as she glanced about her and saw 
31 


Maggie McLanehan 


the rows and rows of different vegetables, 
each with its own shade of green on its 
leaves, she was delighted. ‘‘And are all 
these to be picked?” she wondered. “If I 
do my best, I ought to get plenty of work 
right here. And I’m going to do it.” 

Mrs. Haymaker, who superintended the 
pickers, now came to meet her, and carefully 
gave her directions as to her picking, showing 
her just how full and round the pods ought 
to be, and telling her to leave the flat ones 
on the vines to All out. “ Some of our 
pickers leave the full pods till they are al- 
most yellow, and pick the flat green ones that 
are not yet filled out, and so hurt our trade. 
Be sure to pick the peas just as I tell you.” 

“Sure and I will, ma’am,” answered Mag- 
gie, respectfully. And Mrs. Haymaker 
walked away. 

“Now, Nora darling,” said Maggie, 
“ yon’s a little, small box. Put it in the shade 
of the bush behind you and sit down on it 
while Maggie works.” 

At once the child obeyed, and Maggie 
began to pick. She had heard somewhere 
32 


Maggie McLanehan 


that workers were not expected to talk, and 
she was prepared to be silent. ‘‘ But sure,” 
she thought, “ there’ll be no harm in throw- 
ing Nora a word now and then, if I don’t 
stop a minute to do it.” 

Presently the little face began to droop, 
and Maggie saw it. “ Watch the little bugs 
and the birds, darling ! ” she cried. Watch 
’em good and tell Maggie about ’em to-night. 
Maggie’ll be tired, so she will, and wanting 
to hear something nice.” 

Then Nora was alert. And every few 
moments her joyous voice rang out, telling 
Maggie something that would not keep till 
evening. 

Mrs. Haymaker, who was everywhere, 
heard, and her watchful eyes noted how, 
while Maggie smiled and called cheerily back 
to her small charge, her busy fingers never 
slackened, and she noticed, too, that Maggie 
was obeying her directions implicitly. 

‘‘That’s the best picker we’ve had this 
season, and the child is no trouble at all,” 
she told her husband. “ I think we’d best 
keep her.” 


33 


Maggie McLanehan 

“ All right/’ returned Mr. Haymaker. 
“Just as you say.” 

When six o’clock struck, the workers went 
to the big kitchen, where they were welcome 
to stay to a supper of bread and milk and 
fruit, if they wished. Eagerly Maggie eyed 
the bowls. “That’s the supper for Nora,” 
she was thinking. “ I’d like to stay if the 
rest does.” 

The rest stayed, and joyfully Maggie led 
Nora to the table. The simple meal over, 
Maggie was taken aside for a conference with 
Mrs. Haymaker. She was a just woman, 
who had been much tried by poor workers, 
and she recognized the fact that in Maggie 
she had found a treasure. “ You belong in 
our first class of workers,” said Mrs. Hay- 
maker. 

But Maggie plainly did not understand. 

“We grade our workers,” continued Mrs. 
Haymaker, “paying each grade a dilferent 
price. Those in the first class get a dollar a 
day and their dinner and supper, but they 
all get dinner and supper, for that matter. 
The supper is always what you had to-night, 
34 


Maggie McLanehan 

and the dinner is always beefsteak with bread 
and butter and fruit. Would you be willing 
to stay the remainder of the season 

“Fd be more than willing, ma’am, I’d be 
glad,” answered Maggie, her face alight 
with gratitude. And any time you’re too 
tired or have the headache, I could cook the 
beefsteak for you.” 

Mrs. Haymaker looked surprised, but all 
she said was, “Very well. I’ll remember.” 

Then Maggie took her fifty cents and 
went home. 


CHAPTER III 


ND I was going to ask you how you 



liked it out to Haymaker’s,” began 
Mrs. Cloonon, as Maggie approached her own 
door. ‘‘But sure, and I’ve no need to ask, 
for it’s yourself that looks tired and happy. 
I’ll help you set a bite out when you get 
back from taking the go-cart home.” 

“Thank you kindly,” replied Maggie 
with a smile. “We’ve had our supper. 
Tell her what we had, Nora, while I’m tak- 
ing the go-cart home.” She passed into the 
house to get a nickel, and with it in her 
hand hurried away in the fast-gathering dusk, 
hearing, as she went, Nora’s shrill treble as 
she proudly said, “Bread and milk and straw- 
berries,” ending with a gleeful laugh. 

“And how come you to have strawber- 
ries?” asked Mrs. Cloonon kindly. 

“’Cause they grow there and there’s lots 
of ’em. Maggie’s going to pick ’em to- 


Maggie McLanehan 


morrow, ’cause she’s careful. The lady 
said the other people would have to pick 
peas.” 

‘‘Sure and they can then, if they’re a 
mind to,” cried Mrs. Cloonon. “Most any- 
body can pick peas if they ain’t too lazy, 
but picking strawberries is quite a different 
job. It takes judgment because, as any one 
knows, you can’t be tramping the vines 
down, and some folks is all feet in a straw- 
berry bed, so they are.” 

Maggie now came back, bringing the go- 
cart with her to have it ready for an early 
start in the morning. “I’m to have it as 
long as I like for fifty cents the week,” she 
said. 

“Sure and that’s the bargain that’s good 
for you and Mrs. Kirtey, too,” observed 
Mrs. Cloonon. “You want to keep your 
eye on the bargains that’s good for both 
sides. There’s not so many of ’em as there 
ought to be, all owing to the fact that many 
folks is so afraid they won’t get the best of 
everything. And they’re more afraid of 
that than they are of doing a mean trick.” 

37 


Maggie McLanehan 


And so saying, she walked into Maggie’s 
room while she undressed Nora and put her 
to bed. Her curiosity concerning the doings 
of the afternoon was by no means satisfied 
as yet. 

‘‘Nora was telling me you was to pick 
strawberries to-morrow,” she remarked, as 
she seated herself ponderously on a wooden 
chair, for she was a large woman. “And I 
was saying to her, — for sure you can say 
things to children as well as to older people, 
if you have the notion and ain’t put out by 
their not understanding the half of it, — and I 
was saying to her that it took judgment not 
to be tramping the vines down in the straw- 
berry bed.” 

“ Some of their beds you couldn’t tramp,” 
answered Maggie, pleasantly, “for the plants 
is set out in bunches like, for all the world 
like a bean patch, only there’s no poles, and 
there’s paths between the rows.” 

“Ah !” observed Mrs. Cloonon. “ I never 
seen none like that. All the strawberry beds 
I’ve seen was all run together.” 

“ Some of theirs is the same way,” replied 
38 


Maggie McLanehan 

Maggie, “and it's in one of them I’m to 
pick to-morrow.” 

“ Then I was right after all,” said Mrs. 
Cloonon, complacently. “No doubt they 
put you at it because they saw you wasn’t all 
feet, like a cow. But what’ll you do with 
Nora? She’ll make bad work in the straw- 
berry bed. I’m thinkin’.” 

“ Maybe she would, but she didn’t touch 
nothing to-day; and Mrs. Haymaker, having 
two little girls of her own, says Nora can 
play with them while I’m working. ’Tis an 
elegant chance I’ve got.” 

“ And how much do you get ? ” asked 
Mrs. Cloonon, interestedly. 

“ A dollar a day and our dinner and sup- 
per,” answered Maggie in a triumphant 
tone. 

For a little time Mrs. Cloonon was silent. 
Then she sighed, and said: “ Only for my 
Molly not being able to abide work of any 
sort. I’d have her a-picking to-morrow.” 

To this Maggie discreetly replied noth- 
ing. It is ill work agreeing with a mother 
on the deficiencies of her only daughter. 

39 


Maggie McLanehan 


Well, I must be going now,*' declared 
Mrs. Cloonon, for I can see you’re beat out 
and ’most asleep. But I’m glad you’ve got 
such a chance.” 

‘‘Nor I shan’t forget who spoke a good 
word for me when Ezra came after me,” 
replied Maggie, with a smile. And then the 
door closed on Mrs. Cloonon, and Maggie 
was soon after in bed and asleep. 

Very early she woke and surveyed rue- 
fully numerous spots on the dress she had 
worn the day before. It was her oldest dress, 
and beside it she had but two others — one 
of calico and one of cheap alpaca. “ I don’t 
like to go dirty,” she said, as she stood 
dressed and looking down on her skirt, 
“ and if I put on my other calico ’twill look 
worse than this by night, for maybe I’ll get 
it stained with the berries. I wish Mrs. 
Cloonon was up. I’d ask her.” 

Presently she heard a stir in the adjoining 
room. “’Tis an hour too soon for her, but, 
sure, and she’s up,” said Maggie, as she has- 
tened to knock on the dividing door, which 
opened promptly and stayed open while the 

40 


Maggie McLanehan 


worthy woman listened to the recital of the 
young girl's difficulty. 

“Sure and I'm glad you're not one of 
them scatter-brains that thinks they knows 
it all," observed Mrs. Cloonon, when Mag- 
gie had finished. “ There's them that would 
think it quite beneath 'em to ask even their 
own mother what they should put on, but go 
flaunting off in what pleased 'em, and never 
thinking where they was to get more of the 
best they had when that was gone." There 
was an indignant tone in Mrs. Cloonon's 
voice that revealed to quick-witted Maggie 
what pretty, lazy Mollie Cloonon had been 
doing. But those same quick wits told her 
better than to give the least hint that she 
understood this indirect arraigning of the 
daughter by the mother, and, in a moment, 
Mrs. Cloonon had put the undutiful Mollie 
out of her mind, and was once more giving 
sage counsel to Maggie. “ Put on your 
other calico dress," she said, with decision, 
“for while too much pride is bad for any- 
body, rich or poor, the pride that bids you go 
clean along the street is no more than is 
41 


Maggie McLanehan 


needful. And all owing to the fact that 
there’s them on every street that puts in con- 
siderable time looking at the passers, and, 
not being able to make up such minds as 
they’ve got as to whether you got dirty 
a-working and earning a dollar a day, or 
whether you’re just dirty by nature, and shift- 
less to boot, they sets it down that you’re 
natural dirty, as the quickest way out of it. 
For, sure, that’s the way with some folks. 
Believing the very worst they can of others 
comes natural to ’em as breathing. So, roll 
up the dress you wore yesterday, Maggie, 
— sure, that’s the one you’ve got on now, 
and you’ll have to take it off again, — and 
carry it with you to wear after you get 
there. I remember now hearing a woman 
that picked out there last summer say that 
was the way she done. Picking ruins the 
clothes. But, then, loafing around in idleness 
gets away with ’em in time, and you ain’t got 
no dollar a day to show for it, neither.” 

Maggie smiled. “ Y ou’re the good friend, 
Mrs. Cloonon,” she answered, gratefully. 
‘‘ I’ll do as you say.” 


42 


Maggie McLanehan 


Then Mrs. Cloonon began to fidget — 
something quite unusual for her — while 
Maggie looked at her in surprise. “And 
have you been thinking about your washing 
and ironing, Maggie?’* she burst out at last. 

“Why, no,” answered the young girl. 

“You can’t do it yourself, as you’ve been 
doing, partly because you ain’t got time, and 
partly on account of not having the strength 
after working all day. For I’m thinking 
you’ll keep right along ? ” 

“Yes,” answered Maggie, thoughtfully. 
“I’ll keep on, of course, but I had forgot 
the washing entirely. Most like I’d have 
remembered it when all was dirty and no 
time to make ’em clean again. I see it now. 
I’ll have to do as you say and hire it.” 

Then Mrs. Cloonon’s manner grew 
eager. “Would you let me do it for you, 
Maggie dear? ’Twas to ask you I got up 
so early. I’d do it for nothing, if I could 
afford it, but as it is. I’ll charge no more 
than others.” 

“I’d rather you’d do it, if you will,” re- 
turned Maggie, positively. 

43 


Maggie McLanehan 

“Why, then/' cried Mrs. Cloonon, joy- 
fully, “here's another of them bargains that's 
good for both sides. Little was I thinking, 
when I spoke up for you to that Ezra Hay- 
maker, that I was speaking for a chance to 
earn a bit myself. For somebody's got to 
work, and since Mollie and the boys can't 
abide it, I'm thinking it must be me, and I 
can't go from home to do it neither. Tom 
does all that a man can, and Barney, that's 
Tom's brother, helps all I'll let him; but 
sure and we're not beggars, and it takes a 
sight to keep us going, too." 

Then Mrs. Cloonon went to prepare 
breakfast; the door closed, and Maggie, 
taking off her soiled dress, put on in its 
place the clean calico, her heart full of pity 
the while for Mrs. Cloonon. As Mrs. 
Cloonon had said, her husband earned all he 
could ; but with three children who simply 
lived to make demands on their parents, 
without having the slightest idea of doing 
anything in return, the father and mother 
had uphill work. 

“I'd hate to be havin' a father and mother 


44 


Maggie McLanehan 

and treat 'em like that,” thought Maggie. 
“Mollie won’t be out of bed yet for an hour 
and a half, I doubt. ’Tis herself complains 
of the seven o’clock whistle waking her up.” 

It was now half-past five. “Come, dar- 
ling,” she said softly, as she bent over her 
little cousin.' “Maggie hates to wake you, 
but it’s time you was up now. You mind 
you’re to be playing with Mimie and Minnie 
to-day, and not just sitting on a box watch- 
ing the little bugs and the birds. Sure and 
that was good work you done watching ’em 
yesterday, and no doubt that’s why you get 
the chance to play to-day. And you’re to 
have the nice little nap, too, in the middle 
of the day, if you’re sleepy. It’s lucky you 
are, ain’t you, darling ? ” 

“Yes,” laughed Nora, broad awake now 
and eager to be dressed. Nora never woke 
fretty unless she was sick. 

“And Mimie and Minnie will be glad 
to see me when I come, won’t they?” she 
asked in her sweet voice, as Maggie dressed 
her. 

“ Yes, darling, of course they will.” 

45 


Maggie McLanehan 


“And I will play and play, and I don’t 
have to be sittin’ still and not touch, do I? 

“No, darling, but you must be good, 
too.” 

Nora promised that she would, and after 
contentedly eating their breakfast, the two 
set off. 

That was a happy day for Maggie. She 
was very strong for her years and did not 
greatly mind stooping over the strawberries. 
It was a delight to her, too, to see the 
approval on Mrs. Haymaker’s face, who 
watched her from time to time as she deftly 
and quickly filled box after box of berries 
and carried them to the house on her tray. 

“ Not a mashed one or a poor one,” re- 
marked Mrs. Haymaker to her husband. 
“ She’s not picking for the money alone, and 
her berries can go into the crate that brings 
the highest price.” 

Now Mr. Haymaker was a man of few 
words ; so all he said was, “ Yes, she’s a good 
girl. Better keep her, I guess.” 

An hour before dinner-time Maggie was 
called to the house. “ Sit down and rest a 

46 


Maggie McLanehan 


half-hour/' said Mrs. Haymaker kindly, 
till you get over stooping so long. I’m 
going to take you at your word and let you 
cook the steak. There are some workers 
here to-day that need unusual supervision, 
and I must attend to them.” 

Maggie obediently sat down. She was 
more tired than she realized, but she was 
happy. Mrs. Haymaker showed her the 
refrigerator where the steak was kept, and 
calling her eldest daughter, a girl of twelve, 
she bade her make up the fire, set the table, 
and wait on Maggie. 

Then was Maggie’s heart full of excite- 
ment. So much depended on having the 
fire just as it ought to be. The cuts of steak 
were not of the choicest; Maggie saw that 
at once, and thought it was all right. ‘‘ Sure 
and it’s awful good of ’em to give us any 
kind of steak,” she thought, ‘‘and all on 
account of the cookin’ lesson I know how to 
cook it, anyhow.” 

Quickly she prepared the steak, and then, 
as the workers came into the big kitchen, she 
heated and greased the four large frying pans. 

47 


Maggie McLanehan 

When the pans were piping hot, in went the 
steak. Then Maggie forgot everything about 
her as she stood, cook fork and knife in hand, 
turning now one piece and now another, and 
searing it over quickly to keep the juices in. 
The fire scorched her face, but she did not 
notice. There was only one thing that en- 
gaged her attention, and that was her cook- 
ing. If only it should be satisfactory! 

It was satisfactory, as everybody at the 
table testified. 

“ I haven’t words for that girl,” said Mrs. 
Haymaker to her husband, when the day was 
done, and the workers had gone home. 
“ She’s a wonder, — a positive wonder. Her 
mind is on her work, and she does her best 
every minute.” 

‘‘Yes,” replied Mr. Haymaker, who was 
an excellent man if he was monotonous, 
“ she’s a good girl. I guess you’d better 
keep her.” 


48 


CHAPTER IV 


OR two weeks Maggie kept on. Then 



^ the Haymaker strawberries were gone, a 
rainy spell set in, and she was compelled to 
stay at home. 

‘‘Sure, and I thought your luck was too 
good to last,” cried Mrs. Cloonon in a 
sympathetic tone, and with the corners of 
her mouth drawn down. “What ever will 
you do now ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Maggie, 
bravely; “but I’ve got enough to keep Nora 
and me till I find out.” 

Mrs. Cloonon nodded. “ ’Tis yourself 
as has the gift of forethought and saving, the 
same as your Aunt Maggie before you,” she 
said. “You’ll not starve. But if I was you. 
I’d not say anything about my savings, lest 
it get to the ears of them that’s always ready 
to go borrowing. There’s more reasons 
than dodging taxes for keeping still about 


49 


Maggie McLanehan 


what you’ve got,” and she looked signifi- 
cantly in the direction of Mr. David Mc- 
Lanehan’s poor, because thriftless, home. 
‘‘Not that you’re dodging taxes, of course, 
only there’s them that does.” 

Maggie fiushed, but she knew that Mrs. 
Cloonon was the best friend that she had in 
the world, and she also knew that the advice 
was good. So instead of resenting the im- 
putation cast upon her uncle, she simply 
answered, “I’ll heed your words.” 

Then Mrs. Cloonon went back to her 
own rooms, and Maggie sat down to think. 
The rain was falling dismally, and from 
the window she could see her cousin Bill 
with bare legs splashing about in the mud 
delightedly. 

“Sure, and he’ll be sick, getting wet that 
way, and then they’ll all be wondering how 
it come about,” she said to herself. “For 
that’s the way with ’em, — always opening 
the door to bad luck and then wondering 
how it come to ’em. But let me not be 
minding their business, when I’ve plenty of 
my own on hand. What ever shall I do 


50 


Maggie McLanehan 


next ? '' Suddenly her face lit up. “There’s 
my sign !” she exclaimed. “I’ll make that 
and put it up, and by that time who knows 
what’ll happen ? ” 

She paused a moment. She had no 
material in the room with which to work. 
“I’ll not be the one to sponge off of Mrs. 
Cloonon,” she said. “And it’s all right to 
go out in the rain when you have business, 
I’m thinking, and it’s not far to the stores, 
anyway.” 

Then turning to Nora she said, coaxingly, 
“You’re a big girl now, ain’t you, darling?” 

“Yes,” replied Nora, promptly. 

“Will you stay here, then, all alone, while 
Maggie runs to town a few minutes? Do 
you think you’re big enough to stay alone, 
or are you too little ? ” 

“I’m big ! ” announced Nora, pompously. 

“I thought you was,” said Maggie, “but 
I wasn’t sure. Well, I’ll go, then, since 
you’re big. If you was little I’d have to 
stay at home with you.” 

So saying she hastily put on her hat and 
rubbers, wrapped a shawl round her, took 
51 


Maggie McLanehan 


an old umbrella, deftly changed the key to 
the outside of the door, locked it, put the 
key in her pocket, and set off almost on a 
run. “There can’t no harm come to her 
just while Tm gone,” she said. Gayly Bill 
danced up to her as she came to the first 
crossing, stamping his feet hard to splash the 
mud over her, and twitching at her umbrella. 

“ ’Tis a bad boy you are,” said Maggie, 
sternly. “Go home with you.” 

“Go home your own self,” retorted Bill. 
“I ain’t no baby to be to home.” 

Her mind intent on getting back to Nora 
as soon as possible, Maggie wasted no 
more words on Bill, though he kept beside 
her, tormenting her at every step. “ ’Tis 
myself had good sense when I wouldn’t go 
to Uncle Dave’s to live,” she thought. “I’d 
have this sort of thing all the time, and no 
peace of mind at all.” 

At her rapid pace the distance to the 
bookstore was soon traversed, and Bill, not 
daring to go in, flattened his nose on the 
pane in his endeavor to see what his cousin 
wanted. 


52 


Maggie McLanehan 


“Have you any real old papers?*' she 
asked, as soon as the clerk advanced to wait 
on her. 

“Yes," was the answer, and he produced 
five. 

“Are they all different ? " asked Maggie. 
“I don't want any two of 'em alike." 

Hastily the clerk, who was a most oblig- 
ing young man, ran them over. “Yes, they 
are all different," he said. 

“How much are they?" she asked. 

“You may have them for three cents," 
was the reply. 

“I'll take 'em. Now what sort of stuff 
have you got to paste things with ? " 

“Why, I'll tell you. Here's a bottle of 
paste that's broken. There's quite a good 
deal in it though, and you may have it for 
two cents." 

“Sure and I'll take it, but tell me first 
how you use it." 

The clerk told her. 

“'Tis the fine paste, ain't it?" commented 
Maggie, when she understood. “And now 
have you got a big pasteboard box ?" 

53 


Maggie McLanehan 


‘‘Yes/' replied the clerk, as he produced it. 

“ And how much is it 

“Oh, ril give you that," was the answer, 
with a smile. 

“ Thank you kindly," responded Maggie, 
smiling in return, as she handed him a dime. 
She had not hoped to keep the expense of 
her sign down to a nickel. “ I believe," she 
thought hurriedly, while she waited for her 
change, which the clerk, for his own con- 
venience, took from his pocket, “seeing Tm 
down town. I’ll get a bit of steak for our 
dinner. Nora’ll be all right that long, any- 
way." 

But the moment she stepped out at the 
door, there was Bill. “ And what’ll you be 
after doin’ with that box?" he demanded. 
His tone and manner were so imperti- 
nent that the clerk, who had opened the 
door for Maggie, promptly came to her 
rescue. He did not know Maggie, but he 
did know Bill, who had often annoyed him. 
“Here! Be off with you !’’ said the clerk, 
sternly. And Bill vanished round the corner. 


54 


Maggie McLanehan 


He do be a bad boy,” thought Maggie, 
as she sped on. She had been gone but half 
an hour when she reached home, delighted 
to find Nora such a big girl that she had 
evidently not even whimpered while Maggie 
was gone. 

It’s glad I am you’re so big,” said Mag- 
gie, with a kiss. “We’ll have some steak by 
and by for dinner, so we will ; and now you 
shall see Maggie make something.” 

Nervously she took out the old papers 
from the inside of the box where the clerk 
had placed them, and stretched out her hand 
for the scissors, which hung on a nail far 
beyond Nora’s reach. She felt that she 
was about to make a great venture. “ Who 
knows what’ll come of it?” she said. 

Her first task was to cut out all the large 
letters in the papers, taking those at the head 
of each first page, and when those were ready, 
she carefully searched for advertisements 
printed in the right size of type. Mean- 
while Nora looked on mystified and having 
plenty of time to wonder, as Maggie was 


55 


Maggie McLanehan 


silent. At last the child spoke. “They're 
funny pictures, ain’t they, Maggie ? ” 

Then Maggie looked up and laughed. 
“Pictures, darling? Sure they’re not pic- 
tures, but letters, and some day you shall 
know ’em all. For each one of ’em’s got a 
name, so it has, just like all the people you 
see going by in the street.” 

“Oh ! ” said Nora, much impressed. And 
with her dainty fingers she began to poke 
the letters about the table. 

“Don’t hurt the letters, darling,” warned 
Maggie. “For though I’ve got a lot of ’em, 
there’s no knowing how many I’ll need. 
If not to-day, some other time.” 

Then she took the lid of the box, and, 
tearing off the strip around its edge, held it 
out at arm’s length, no more a box lid, but 
reduced to a sheet of pasteboard. “And 
that’s better than tearing the bottom out of 
the box,” she said, “for a box without a lid 
is a box anyway, but a lid’s just nothing 
at all. This is bigger than the dressmaking 
sign, and it ought to be. For who knows 
what all will be going on it? And now 
56 


Maggie McLanehan 


ril moisten my paste, so I will, and then, 
Nora, we'll put some of the letters where 
they belong.” 

“Do the Mr. Letters want to go where 
they belong? ” asked Nora interestedly. 

“Sure and I hope they do,” was the 
reply, “for that’s where they’re going, any- 
way.” 

Not so easily were they marshaled into 
place, however; but, by dint of great pains- 
taking on Maggie’s part, they at last looked 
out upon the street, each one doing the part 
assigned it in proclaiming to the passers-by 
that within that small room lived somebody 
who wished everybody to know that she 
was a worker, and not an idler. 

BEEFSTEAK COOKED FOR HIRE. 

THINGS PICKED FOR HIRE, 

said the sign ; and by way of showing that 
these were only two announcements to be 
followed later by others, they stood well at 
the top of the sheet of pasteboard which had 
been erstwhile a box lid. 

“Now, then, darling, are you hungry?” 

57 


Maggie McLanehan 


asked Maggie, as she picked up her litter 
and put carefully away her paste and the 
letters she had left. 

“Yes,” said Nora. 

“Then it’s dinner we’ll have. Bread and 
butter, darling, and some nice steak ! ” 

“Yes,” assented the child with a gleeful 
laugh. 

The steak had just been placed on the 
table, and Maggie was about to seat Nora, 
when there came a knock at the door. 

Hastily Maggie answered the summons, 
to see standing before her a woman of some 
forty years of age. 

“Will you be coming in ? ” asked Maggie, 
politely, as she stepped back from the door 
and placed a chair. 

Wearily the caller sat down. “I came in 
to see what that sign in the window means,” 
she said. 

“Sure and it means I can do them 
things and am wanting the work,” answered 
Maggie. And she looked expectantly at 
her visitor. 

“‘Beefsteak Cooked for Hire,”’ repeated 
58 


Maggie McLanehan 


the caller. ‘‘I never saw such a sign as that. 
Will you explain it to me ? ” 

‘‘Why, it means that if there’s anybody 
that’s wanting beefsteak cooked, I’ll go and 
cook it for ’em for wages, if I can get Mrs. 
Cloonon to look after Nora while I’m 
gone, for it don’t take long to cook steak, 
ma’am.” 

“You don’t want to stay all the time and 
do all kinds of work, then ? ” 

“No, ma’am. I can’t, you see, for Mrs. 
Cloonon’s too busy entirely to keep Nora 
all day long.” 

The caller’s eyes roved to the table. 
“Excuse me,” she said, “but may I taste that 
steak ? ” 

“Surely, ma’am,” responded Maggie, hos- 
pitably, as she put a portion on a plate. 

“That is very nicely cooked,” was the 
caller’s comment. “Where did you learn?” 

“At the cooking class, ma’am.” 

“Can you cook other things ? ” 

“Not very well, ma’am.” 

For a moment the caller reflected. Then 
she announced, “I’m Mrs. Martindale.” 

59 


Maggie McLanehan 

said Maggie with an understand- 
ing look. 

“You know who I am, I see. I keep 
the restaurant on the next street. My 
cook has just left me, and while I can do 
a great many things, I cannot undertake 
everything. Wednesdays and Saturdays are 
my busy days. So many farmers are in 
then, and they all like beefsteak. Will 
you come every Wednesday and Saturday 
from eleven to one and cook the beefsteak 
orders ? ” 

“Fll be glad to do it, ma’am,” answered 
Maggie respectfully. 

“I’ll give you fifty cents each day you 
work, if your steak is always as well cooked 
as this.” 

And then Mrs. Martindale rose from her 
chair and went away. 

What matter that the steak on the table 
was growing cold ? Without a thought for 
it Maggie summoned Mrs. Cloonon, who 
hastily left her own dinner-table to gaze with 
Maggie after the departing figure of Mrs. 


6o 


Maggie McLanehan 


Martindale as long as she was in sight, while 
Maggie told her good news. 

‘‘It do beat all!'’ cried Mrs. Cloonon, 
joyfully. Good luck’s on your track, sure, 
and treading on your heels, and the sign with 
the paste on it hardly dry yet, the fine sign 
that it is 1 They do say that Mrs. Martin- 
dale’s the good one to work for, and a poor 
one to shirk for, and as you don’t know 
nothing about shirking, why, you’re all right. 
And I’ll keep Nora for you while you’re 
gone, so I will.” 

“And I’ll pay you a nickel for every 
time,” said Maggie, gratefully. “ Please don’t 
say me nay, for only for your taking the 
nickel I sha’n’t feel free to leave her.” 

Mrs. Cloonon had opened her mouth to 
refuse payment, but now she smiled instead. 
“ There’s some that the very thought of pay- 
ing anything to anybody makes sick,” she 
said. “ And a chance to get something for 
nothing makes ’em quite joyful, like they’d 
come into a property. But they ain’t you, 
Maggie dear. You’re all for paying, and de- 


6i 


Maggie McLanehan 

pending .on nobody. And so have it your 
own way.*' 

Then Mrs. Cloonon went back to her 
own table, and Maggie with Nora sat down 
to eat what was presumably cold steak, but 
which tasted uncommonly good, so seasoned 
was it with happy gratitude. 


62 


CHAPTER V 


‘‘TLL have to get me two new dresses, 
^ so I will,** said Maggie the next day. 
“ Don*t you think so, Mrs. Cloonon?** 

do,** responded Mrs. Cloonon. “New 
dresses when they*re needed are just the 
thing, so they are, but new dresses when 
you*ve got good ones and want more just be- 
cause others has *em is all wrong. But sure 
and there*s no use to tell you that, for it*s as 
old as your aunt Maggie you are when it 
comes to sense.** 

At the mention of Mrs. Garity*s name a 
cloud of sorrow came over the girfs face, for 
she missed her good aunt sorely. Mrs. 
Cloonon saw it, and blaming herself for hav- 
ing struck a tender chord, continued hastily, 
“You*re needing the dresses, of course, 
Maggie, and Tm the one that would like to 
make *em for you, if you*ll put up with my 
dressmaking.** 


63 


Maggie McLanehan 


As Mrs. Cloonon thus proffered her ser- 
vices there was in her eye an anxious look, 
which, trying to hide behind a smile, touched 
Maggie. Mollie and the boys had, if any- 
thing, increased their demands of late. 

“ They’ll be naught but five-cent calico,” 
said the girl, kindly. “ I can’t afford better.” 

‘‘Nor I couldn’t make ’em if you was to 
buy ’em. But calico I think I can manage,” 
returned Mrs. Cloonon. “I had to hire 
Mollie’s organdy, she wanted so many frills 
on it.” And the mother sighed. “ Frills is 
what tries a green hand, and makes a body’s 
heart quite fail,” she said. “ It’s down on 
the fashion I am,” she cried, a moment later. 
“ It’s no good at all, as I can see, but to set 
poor folks aping their betters and making 
’em hard to get along with. The rich can 
have what they please, so they can, and they 
no sooner get one thing than they’re tired of 
it and wanting another, like a spoiled baby. 
And then the poor folks, using no judgment 
of their own, goes a-followin’ after, and thinks 
it makes ’em look ladies quite to be setting 
up their noses and saying they’ve nothing de- 

64 


Maggie McLanehan 


cent to wear. It’s the most discouraging 
thing in life, this following the fashion — for 
them that foots the bills, anyway. There’s 
no good in saving your clothes any more. 
If, by chance, there’s anything that escapes 
wear, why, let but the next year come, and 
fashion won’t have naught to say to it, and a 
body must ever be slaving for something 
new.” 

Maggie smiled sympathetically. She knew 
that Mrs. Cloonon was at her wit’s end to 
provide clothing for extravagant Mollie — 
pretty Mollie, who did not see why she could 
not have things as well as others. And she 
hastened to divert the mother’s mind. “Could 
you go with me now to pick out my dresses?” 
she asked, persuasively. 

“ I will,” replied Mrs. Cloonon. “ No 
doubt, being older than you, I can pick bet- 
ter pieces ; and I’ll tell you now some of this 
five-cent calico ain’t worth bringing home. 
There’s good amongst it, but it takes judg- 
ment to find it.” 

“That’s what I was thinking,” said 
Maggie deferentially. 

65 


Maggie McLanehan 


“Come on, then/' cried the gratified Mrs. 
Cloonon, “ and I’ll do my best for you.” 

A few moments later the little party of 
three set out, Maggie with her purse in her 
hand, and Nora walking sedately along be- 
tween her elders. 

“ ’Tis yourself, Maggie dear, as is the 
lucky one for your friends to have around,” 
observed Mrs. Cloonon, her cheerfulness 
restored; for she was never cast down long at 
a time. “ Sure all your good fortune means 
better times for them. Of course you know 
I’m no dressmaker, and maybe you should 
have gone to the Leland girls after all. They’d 
have been putting more style into ’em, if they 
was but calico.” 

For a moment Maggie said nothing, for 
she was as fond of style as any sensible girl 
could be. Then she replied, “ They’d not 
be sewing good-will to me and Nora in every 
stitch, though, and that’s better nor style for 
me. I’m thinking.” 

Then it was Mrs. Cloonon’s turn to be 
silent. She saw and appreciated Maggie’s 
loyalty to her. But she could not long refrain 
66 


Maggie McLanehan 


from speech. “ ’Tis a wonderful tongue 
youVe got, Maggie,’’ she said, “ that gives a 
pleasant twist to all that comes out of your 
mouth. Good-will shall be sewed up in your 
dresses, sure enough, and I’ll promise that 
the stitches won’t be ripping out like they 
do for some dressmakers, bad luck to ’em, 
taking a body’s money and half doing their 
work. But here we are, and a pretty pile of 
calicoes these are at the very door. We’ll 
not stop to look at ’em, though, for most like 
they’ve got better inside. ’Tis the way of 
the world, Maggie, to be sellin’ the poorest 
first to whatever greenhorn they can get to 
buy ’em, and saving the best for them that 
won’t put up with poor stuff. Now, there’s 
more than one woman will pick out her dress 
right there at the door. I’m thinking.” And 
the comment on such a short-sighted pro- 
ceeding was to be read of all men in the 
suddenly elevated head and squared shoulders 
of Mrs. Cloonon as, followed by Maggie and 
Nora, she sailed into the store. 

And now the clerk at the print counter 
had found in Mrs. Cloonon a customer not 
67 


Maggie McLanehan 

at all to his liking. For the warm-hearted 
woman was full of zeal for Maggie and 
determined that she should get her money’s 
worth, if possible. Never had so many 
doubts and slurs been cast upon a respect- 
able lot of prints as fell to the share of the 
counterful before Mrs. Cloonon. This piece 
she looked at suspiciously, and gave it 
as her opinion that it would fade ; that one 
would do for the likes of some; the other 
one seemed not very strong, not to say a bit 
rotten. But at last she selected two pieces, 
which she gave Maggie permission to buy. 
And, in truth, they were the best the clerk 
had to offer, and were plain and neat. 

“Now, two little dresses for Nora, Mrs. 
Cloonon,” said Maggie. 

“Me to make ’em?” queried Mrs. 
Cloonon in a whisper. 

Maggie nodded. 

“ ’Tis a wonderful girl you are, Maggie,” 
said her friend, gratefully, and then gave her 
mind anew to the calicoes. 

At last all selections had been made, the 
goods paid for, and delivered in a securely 
68 


Maggie McLanehan 


tied up parcel into Maggie’s hands. And 
then the three set out for home, Mrs. 
Cloonon, in particular, feeling the elation of 
a duty well done. 

‘‘You don’t care to be walking about a 
bit, do you, Maggie ? ” asked Mrs. Cloonon 
as they emerged from the store. 

“No,” replied the young girl; “I don’t 
care for walking about as I did when I had 
Aunt Maggie. There’s a weight of care on 
me that makes me old. And only for the 
good Lord helping me night and day, who 
knows where I’d be?” 

“Sure enough ! Sure enough ! ” re- 
sponded Mrs. Cloonon, reverently. And 
then her tone became more sprightly. “You 
must keep as lively as you can, though, Mag- 
gie dear, and laugh every time you get the 
chance. That’s the way I do myself, and 
many a day I don’t get the chance, and that’s 
the fact. Of course we don’t neither of us 
want to be like them sillies that laughs at 
nothing and would be making a gay place 
out of a funeral if ’twas decent to do so. 
But look there, now ! ” she cried, as they 


Maggie McLanehan 

came in sight of home. ‘‘Ain’t that Ezra 
Haymaker sitting there on the door-step 
a-waiting, with Bill yelling at him to know 
what he wants ? He ain’t paying no atten- 
tion to that Bill, though.” 

Yes, it was Ezra; and all three quickened 
their steps, Nora beginning to chatter at 
once about Mimie and Minnie and their big 
brother. 

“And is it come after Maggie you are?” 
asked Mrs. Cloonon, beginning the conver- 
sation. 

“Yes,” answered Ezra. “The raspber- 
ries will be ready to pick the first of the 
week, and ma wants Maggie.” 

“She ain’t the only one that wants Mag- 
gie,” said Mrs. Cloonon, sagely. “There’ll 
be a many more wanting her before she’s 
old and gray.” 

Ezra looked curious, seeing which Mrs. 
Cloonon continued: “And is it yourself as 
hasn’t heard how Mrs. Martindale, the lady 
that keeps the biggest and the finest restau- 
rant in Teepleton, has been and hired Mag- 
gie to come of a Wednesday and a Saturday 

70 


Maggie McLanehan 


to cook beefsteak for them that wants it? 
It's an all-the-y ear-round job, I’m thinking, 
for some men is never done eating beefsteak 
from January to December, especial when it’s 
cooked right. And your mother told Mag- 
gie, when the rain set in and stopped every- 
thing, not to let the picking to your house 
stand in the way of any other work she could 
get to do, and so Maggie’s going to the 
restaurant, as I was telling you. But, of 
course, there’s no reason why she shouldn’t 
pick for your mother the rest of the week.” 

Ezra looked inquiringly at Maggie. He 
knew all about the understanding with her, 
and that his mother was determined not to 
stand in the girl’s way in any particular, 
much as she valued her services. But he 
was a boy of few words, as Bill had found 
out when all his yelling, of a half-hour’s 
duration, had received absolutely no reply. 

‘‘Yes,” said Maggie. “What Mrs. 
Cloonon says is true; but I’ll be glad to 
come to your mother the rest of the week.” 

“All right,” responded Ezra; “I’ll tell 
her,” and he was off. 

71 


Maggie McLanehan 


“There’s the boy, now,” commented 
Mrs. Cloonon, looking after him, “that 
won’t never be stirring up no fusses on 
account of having an unruly tongue, his 
tongue being that tame that it’s little but yes 
or no you can get out of him. If Bill, there, 
should pattern after him. I’m thinkin’ there’d 
be small complaint about it by the neigh- 
bors. You’ll understand I’m not naming 
him now as your cousin, Maggie dear, but 
just as Bill McLanehan. And sure he can 
be named both ways, too, for there’s plenty 
of him to see and hear, what with all sorts 
of mischief he’s in. Do you see him there 
making faces at Nora till she’s like to cry? 
Never mind him, darlint! He can’t hurt 
you, so he can’t.” And Mrs. Cloonon 
making a sudden feint of dashing at the 
young tormentor, he was off as usual, and 
the three went into the house in peace. 

The next day was Wednesday, and Mag- 
gie, who was well starched and ironed by 
Mrs. Cloonon, set out for the restaurant at 
half-past ten. 

“You ain’t due till eleven, you know ” 
72 


Maggie McLanehan 


observed Mrs. Cloonon, ‘^and you can 
get there in five minutes, if not sooner.” 

“I know it,” returned Maggie, ‘‘but I 
want to get the hang of things before it’s 
time to begin.” And with a kiss for Nora, 
and a final reiteration that she was to have 
nothing for her dinner but the bowl of 
bread and milk and the saucer of fruit in the 
cupboard, she set out. 

The dishwasher in Mrs. Martindale’s 
kitchen sniffed as she saw her come in at the 
door. For Maggie, at first glance, struck 
her as not being in the ranks of those who 
slight their work and spend all they can 
get on cheap finery. But there was sincer- 
ity in her dark blue eyes, and a gravity in 
her demeanor that was very attractive to 
sensible people, if not to Mrs. Martindale’s 
dishwasher. Mrs. Martindale, as soon as 
she knew of her arrival, speedily appeared 
from the shop in front, where candies and 
fruit and bread and cake were sold, and her- 
self initiated the grave young girl into the 
mysteries of dampers and drafts, and showed 
her where to find all she would need for her 


73 


Maggie McLanehan 


cooking, and just how large a piece of steak 
constituted an order. And as Maggie gave 
respectful attention the dishwasher sniffed 
again. 

There being nothing to do for a few 
moments, Maggie, according to Mrs. Mar- 
tindale’s directions, sat down to wait until 
her first order should be brought to her. 

‘‘Live here in town?” asked the dish- 
washer, patronizingly, her hands coming to 
a willing pause in their slow and lazy move- 
ments. 

“ Yes,” answered Maggie, pleasantly, as 
she looked at the wonderful arrangement of 
the dishwasher’s hair, patterned after a style 
suitable for a young society lady in the even- 
ing. 

“You’ll not stay here long,” prophesied 
the dishwasher, with such a disdainful shake 
of her somewhat unsteady coiffure as to pre- 
cipitate two hairpins to the floor, where they 
were sought for laboriously by their owner, 
whose waist was most amazingly girt in, and 
whose movements were further hampered by 
an exceedingly tight pair of shoes. “ She’s 
74 


Maggie McLanehan 

too much of a driver/' continued the dish- 
washer, whose name, as she told Maggie, was 
Ethel Todd; and she nodded in the direction 
of the dining-room, through which Mrs. 
Martindale had returned to the shop. 
“You’ve got to work, if you stay here.” 

“And that’s what I come for,” replied 
Maggie, wonderingly. 

“I didn’t,” retorted Ethel, with a rude 
laugh. 

“What did you come for?” asked Mag- 
gie, soberly. 

“ For my wages,” said Ethel, “and I don’t 
care how easy I get ’em, either. I could wash 
these dishes a-flyin’ if I wanted to, but I’don’t 
want to, and so Wednesdays and Satur- 
days she has to hire in another girl to help 
me. Oh, Tm not so green as you might 
think.” There was a pause, in which Mag- 
gie’s ears were annoyed by the trickling of 
a stream of dishwater from the table to the 
floor. Then Ethel said, “ Didn’t she call 
you Maggie ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“Well, my name’s really Mary Jane, but 
75 


Maggie McLanehan 


I don't like these common names, and I 
wouldn't have it. I call myself Ethel." 

One porter-house steak ! " called the 
waiter, and Maggie sprang from her chair. 
Not a word did she speak, as she cooked 
order after order till one o'clock struck, and 
her task was done. 

‘‘Well, I must say," remarked Ethel, as 
Maggie put on her hat, “ you’re a great one 
to work, but I'd think you’d hate to scorch 
your face over a hot fire, when a cold one 
would do." 

“ It spoils steak to cook it over a slow 
fire,” answered Maggie, pleasantly. 

“And what if it does ^ " coolly returned 
Ethel. “You don't have to eat it. Let 'em 
take what they can get, I say. And if you're 
very smart, you’ll say so, too.” 

“ I'm hired to cook the steak right," said 
Maggie, simply. And she walked out of the 
kitchen. 


76 


CHAPTER VI 



ND do you know what’s the ruination 


TT of the world, Maggie ? ” asked Mrs. 
Cloonon, one Saturday two weeks later, when 
the young girl had just come in tired and 
overheated from her work at the restaurant. 

Sure, and it’s this making themselves into a 
flock of sheep and all going and doing what- 
ever somebody else says is the thing. Even 
Barney’s bit with it, so he is, for what’s he 
going to do but go on this here excursion, and 
take Mollie with him. And don’t I know 
where it’ll all end ? Sure, and there won’t be 
no peace at all unless there’s an excursion all 
the time, and not then if Mollie don’t get to 
go to ’em. But Barney always was for spoil- 
ing Mollie and the boys, only the boys won’t 
be getting spoiled none on this excursion, 
and all because they ain’t going. And put 
out they are enough about it, too. And 
what with their growling, and Mollie wanting 


77 


Maggie McLanehan 

a new hat to travel in, I’m at my wits’ end. 
And she don’t know a thing when I’m talk- 
ing to her, only that Uncle Barney’s going to 
take her with him. Her Aunt Margaret’s 
going too, so there’ll be three of ’em; and 
I’ll be bound they’ll have the fine time, for 
Barney’s the one that never stops for ex- 
pense.” 

The busy tongue paused for a moment, 
but Maggie made no attempt to sandwich in 
a few words, and Mrs. Cloonon, noticing her 
unwonted silence, glanced up from her labo- 
rious sewing on Nora’s dress. ‘‘What is it, 
Maggie ? ” she said. “You’re looking down 
in the heart, so you are.” 

“ ’Tis the years ahead of me, Mrs. Cloo- 
non, and I not knowing just what it’s best to 
do. Nora’s growing fine, and she’ll have to 
have schooling after a while. I’d be shoul- 
dering my load quick, if I knew just what it 
was. But it’s only odd jobs I’ve got to do 
so far, and it’s summer weather, too, when it 
don’t cost much to live. But winter’s a-com- 
ing, and I’m wishing for Aunt Maggie, so I 
am.” 


78 


Maggie McLanehan 


At once the excursion and Mollie’s good 
time were forgotten by Mrs. Cloonon, as she 
gave her whole mind to inspiring Maggie 
with fresh courage. 

“ ’Tis right you are, Maggie,” she said; 
“the winter’s coming, and after that some 
more summer, and so on, do you see ? ’Tis 
myself as often thinks the summer’s like the 
meat in a sandwich, and the winter that’s 
each side of it’s the bread. But put the 
bread and meat together and it’s pretty good 
eating; and not only that, but stylish, as I’ve 
heard, among the fine folks, for picnics and 
the like of that. And now we’ll get right 
down to the root of things, so we will, and 
see what the trouble is. ’Course it ain’t the 
summer nor yet the winter a-coming. Have 
you ever noticed how folks lays all sorts of 
blame on summer and winter and weather, 
when ten to one ’tis some dishwashing girl at 
the restaurant has been giving ’em something 
to rile ’em in the way of talk and nose-snif- 
fing?” 

Maggie blushed, and Mrs. Cloonon nod- 
ded. 


79 


Maggie McLanehan 

“ Leave the dishwashing girl alone/’ said 
Mrs. Cloonon. ‘‘ She’s not worth minding. 
But ’tis Mrs. Martindale is the fine lady; 
her that the dishwashing girl calls a driver. 
What did she have to say to you to-day ? ” 

Maggie visibly brightened. “ Why, she 
said my steak cooking was drawing her cus- 
tom, and coming in for steak, they bought 
many little things on the way out. And she 
says I’m to have seventy-five cents each day 
if I’ll work half an hour longer.” 

‘‘And you a-talking of Nora’s schooling 
and the winter a-coming, on top of that ! ” 
exclaimed Mrs. Cloonon. “ If you wasn’t 
such a good girl, I’d be mad with you. And 
you talking about odd jobs! It’s my belief 
Mrs. Martindale will be wanting you all 
winter.” 

Still more Maggie brightened, and she 
had just smiled, when there was a commotion 
in the street. 

“What ever do be the matter.?” cried 
Mrs. Cloonon, hurrying to the door and 
peering out, while she was closely followed 
by Maggie and Nora. 

8o 


Maggie McLanehan 


A moment Mrs. Cloonon looked, and 
then she turned to Maggie with satisfaction 
on her face. Sure and the pig’s took at last, 
so he is ! ” she said. The marshal’s got him, 
and taking him to the pound.” 

Eagerly Maggie leaned forward, and was 
just in time to see a long-legged, round- 
backed pig led off in triumph to the music 
of his own grunts and squeals, while at a dis- 
tance hovered his owner. Bill McLanehan, 
utterly powerless to rescue his pet. 

Sure, and all things has their times and 
their seasons,” remarked Mrs. Cloonon, ‘^and 
the pig’s got his at last. I’m wondering how 
many ladies and little girls he’s scared to 
death, and Bill looking on and laughing to 
see it done? I mind the time when Bill got 
the pig. ’Twas in the fall, and the pig was a 
wee one, and them Bensons that owned him 
was moving away. They couldn’t well take 
him with ’em, and so they give him to Bill. 
That’s how he come by him ; and sure, ’twas 
the year before your Aunt Maggie come to 
live in the house with me. The pig’s well 
on in his third year now, so he is, and the 

8i . 


Maggie McLanehan 

mischief that’s in him can’t be beat in no pig 
twice his age. For ’twas Bill had the training 
of him, and he brought him up in a nail keg, 
so he did, and that’s what bowed his back. 
As for his legs, most like they’d have been 
long anyway, some pigs having long ones 
and some short ones. Sure, and there’s no 
law for the length of a pig’s legs, anyway; 
they mostly takes their legs as they come, 
long or short. Well, do you know that Bill, 
mean as he is — I’m speaking of him now as 
Bill McLanehan and not remembering him as 
your cousin at all, Maggie, dear — well, mean 
as he is, that Bill is always after a pet. And 
so he trains and trains him, a-pushing at him 
with his foot and then making believe he was 
scared, and running, till that pig .he takes to 
getting after everybody in the street. ’Tis 
yourself has seen him more than once, and 
run from him, too. I mind one Sunday 
morning he come a-prancing out when there 
was a fine dandy of a fellow going by, with his 
new light trousers on, though it was a muddy 
day, and up comes the pig for a game with 
him. First, the fellow wouldn’t run for a 


Maggie McLanehan 


pig; besides, he was sort of strange in the 
town, and wasn’t acquainted with the pig, 
anyway. So what does he do but be waving 
the two arms of him and pushing with one 
foot ? And sure that was as good as the pig 
wanted. At him he come a-prancing like a 
dog, and grunting, and squealing, and the 
fellow run after all ; only he didn’t run soon 
enough, for the pig put his dirty feet right 
on them new light trousers, so he did. I’ve 
heard since that he went away, saying Teeple- 
ton was a queer sort of a town, so it was ; when 
it wasn’t the town at all, but Bill McLane- 
han’s pig. You mind how the marshal or- 
dered the pig off the streets not more than 
three months ago ; and he must have got out, 
so he must, and no wonder. With that Bill 
to be fixing his pen, ’tis a wonder he wasn’t 
out before.” 

For a few moments there was silence, and 
then Mrs. Cloonon resumed: Well, that’s 
the end of Bill’s pig, so far as Bill’s con- 
cerned. There’s a country boy been crazy 
for him some time, and he’ll just pay the 
pig’s pound charges and take him. I’m think- 
83 


Maggie McLanehan 


ing. Bill can't pay 'em, nor yet his father 
can't. Most like they think the pound's a 
free hotel for pigs and such, anyway. But 
they'll find out, so they will, that whatever 
the marshal takes things to, whether it's a 
pound or a jail, ain't free by no means. For 
do you mind, Maggie, there's some things 
you pay to get into and some you pay to 
get out of, and the pound and the jail are 
two of the last sort. Most anybody can 
get into jail, if he's mean enough ; the very 
poorest can do it. But getting out's an- 
other thing. And now," she ended, as she 
began to fold up her work, ‘‘ I can do no 
more sewing to-night, for supper's to get, 
and after that Mollie will most like be drag- 
ging me down town to see the hat she says 
she's dying for. This dying for things is a 
silly business, I'm thinking." 

With a sigh, when her talkative neighbor 
was gone into her own part of the house, 
Maggie rose and prepared the simple supper 
for herself and Nora. It was fine, she 
thought, to be young and have a mother 
and be dying for hats. ‘‘But sure it's bread 

84 


Maggie McLanehan 

and butter IVe to be thinking about,” she 
said. 

So there was cheerfulness at the Cloonon 
supper table, and a little soberness at Mag- 
gie's table, but at the supper table in the 
Dave McLanehan home there was unmiti- 
gated wrath. For Bill had returned and 
reported the fate of the pig. 

‘‘ 'Tis the way of this town,” cried Mrs. 
McLanehan, with flashing eyes, “to be down 
on the poor, so it is ; and they can't even be 
keepin' a pig for their own pleasure, so they 
can't, without some marshal or other, or 
maybe the constable, cornin' after it and lug- 
gin' it oflF to the pound. I'll be bound the 
pig wasn't for goin' P ” And she looked 
inquiringly at Bill. 

“That he wasn't,” returned her son. 
“He hung back with all his might, but it 
didn't do him no good.” 

“Of course it didn't,” said his mother, 
scornfully. “What's a pig, when a man's at 
the other end of the string ? Why wasn't 
he takin' something more his size ? ” 

“Ah ! Why wasn't he ? ” observed Mr. 
8s 


Maggie McLanehan 


McLanehan, sagely, who was anxious to 
keep in with his virago wife, and yet say 
nothing unbecoming of an officer of the law. 

“And that’s a pretty speech now, ain’t, it, 
Dave McLanehan? If you was a man 
wouldn’t you be after goin’ and gettin’ the 
pig back ? ” 

“I would that, in a minute,” promptly 
replied Mr. McLanehan, “only it takes a 
dollar, and I ain’t got it.” 

“A dollar is it?” cried Mrs. McLane- 
han. “And is that what the marshal got 
just for leadin’ one pig to the pound? No 
wonder all the men wants to be marshals, 
and the taxpayers is a-groanin’. I wouldn’t 
put it past that marshal to be lettin’ the pig 
out into the street where he could get at 
him and be gettin’ his dollar. You fixed 
the pen good, didn’t you. Bill ? ” 

“I did that,” replied Bill. 

“1 don’t know how he would be doin’ 
that neither,” observed Mr. McLanehan, 
who had small faith in Bill. “For, d’ye see, 
there’s only a few shingle nails in the 
house.” 


86 


Maggie McLanehan 


“And what of that ? ” cried Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan. “I hope Bill ain’t so silly as to 
be thinkin’ he must be havin’ a particular 
sort of nail for everything he wants to be 
mendin’. Would you be havin’ him wastin’ 
his money goin’ up and askin’ for pig pen 
nails when there’s a plenty of shingle nails in 
the house ? That’s too much entirely like 
that Mrs. Flaherty, who’s always sayin’ ‘a 
place for everything, and everything in it’s 
place.’ ” 

Mr. McLanehan opened his mouth to 
explain that shingle nails were too short to 
hold the boards of a pig pen, but thought 
better of it, and let his wife triumph over 
him. “ Let her be havin’ it her own way,” 
he thought; “ the sooner the storm will 
clear.” 

“ I seen Maggie a-lookin’ while the mar- 
shal was takin’ the pig,'' observed Bill. 

“Ah ! ” exclaimed Mrs. McLanehan com- 
ing to a period in her wrath. 

“ She was a-lookin’ out around Mrs. 
Cloonon, that most filled the door.” 

“Ah ! ” exclaimed his mother again. “And 
87 


Maggie McLanehan 


that reminds me of another thing. Let the 
pig go now, for sure he’s gone anyway, and 
you shall be havin’ something else in the 
place of him. Only it shan’t be a pig, for 1 
ain’t goin’ to be helpin’ support marshals and 
constables, so I ain’t ; and havin’ once drove 
your pig, they’ll be thinkin’ they could be 
drivin’ it again.” 

Then she turned to her husband. “ ’Tis 
of Maggie I’d be speakin’ to you,” she said. 
“ Did you go, as I bid you, to see the sign in 
her window that Bill was tellin’ about ? ” 

“ I did,” was the answer. It’s crazy she 
is, no doubt. A sign like that makes me 
ashamed, so it does. It’s partly that. I’m 
thinkin’, as gets the neighbors down on Bill. 
Knowin’ he’s cousin to such a loony, they 
thinks they can put on him and drive him off 
the street when he gets before their houses. 
I’m notstandin’ up altogether for Bill neither, 
d’ye mind, for he’s got a plenty of faults. 
But I’m thinkin’ they would pass, if it wasn’t 
for the likes of that sign.” 

At this criticism of Bill, Mrs. McLane- 
han’s eyes flashed ; for she held it to be the 


Maggie McLanehan 

sum and substance of a mother’s duties to 
uphold her children at all times as being in 
the right. But for the sake of what was up- 
permost in her mind, she ignored the refer- 
ence to Bill’s shortcomings and contented 
herself with retorting, “ I don’t know about 
her being a loony. She takes after her 
mother’s side of the house — ” 

‘‘ Of course she does,” broke in Mr. 
McLanehan. ‘^Anybody would know that 
that seen how turrible obstinate she was about 
stayin’ to herself.” 

“And I was sayin’ they all has the knack 
of makin’ money,” continued Mrs. McLane- 
han. “ ’Twas for that I offered her a home 
here when I sent you for her. Bein’ a minor 
we could have took all she earned by givin’ 
out that we furnished her with a home.” 

Mr. McLanehan looked s c o r n f u 1 . 
“ There’d have been two of ’em to keep, 
d’ye mind,” he said; “her and Nora.” 

“ There’s the same two of ’em to keep 
where they are, ain’t there ? ” demanded 
Mrs. McLanehan. “You hain’t been no- 
ticin’ that Maggie’s havin’ two new dresses 
89 


Maggie McLanehan 


this summer, and two for Nora, and hirin' her 
washin’ and ironin' and sewin' ? " 

Mr. McLanehan stared. 

Now there's the sign that you're down 
on. I've been talkin' about a bit, and askin' 
questions ; and now can you tell me what 
Maggie's been gettin' a day out to Hay- 
maker's ?" 

Mr. McLanehan said he could not, and 
suggested a quarter. 

‘‘A quarter, is it? "repeated Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan. “ 'Twas a dollar, and dinner and 
supper for her and Nora throwed in." 

‘‘ I didn't know Haymaker paid so much," 
ventured Mr. McLanehan. 

‘‘ He don't, usual. 'Tis only a few gets a 
dollar a day from him. But that's what I was 
tellin' you : Maggie is like her mother's 
folks, always gettin' the biggest pay goin'." 

“And what about the rest of the sign ? " 
asked Mr. McLanehan, a greedy look in 
his eyes. 

“That 1 don't know. But I'm goin' to 
find out." 

“ Do it," said Mr. McLanehan. “And 


90 


Maggie McLanehan 


if there^s the same sort of money in it, I’ll 
see if a niece of mine, my own brother’s 
child, shall be livin’ in one room by herself 
when ’tis best she should have a home with 
me/’ 


91 


CHAPTER VII 


HE month of August came in hot and 



1 sultry. But the discomforts of the 
weather did not hinder Maggie, who went 
steadily on, four days out of the week at Mrs. 
Haymaker's and two days at Mrs. Martin- 
dale's. Neither did it deter Mrs. McLane- 
han, whose house presented an appearance 
even more slatternly than usual, while she was 
abroad, trying to pry into Maggie's affairs. 
She found it slower work than she had 
hoped, because none of her neighbors, who 
were also Maggie's neighbors, either re- 
spected or liked her. And before she could 
advance so far as to give or receive confi- 
dences, she had to clear away a great many 
obstacles in her path, such as grudges against 
Bill for various mischievous deeds, and hard 
feelings against herself because she had let 
him go unpunished for the same 

It was Bill who had let out the chicken 


92 


Maggie McLanehan 


that Mrs. Flaherty had bought on Friday for 
the Sunday dinner, and cooped up in the back 
yard till the time should come for killing it. 
The time came, but the chicken was gone, 
and Mrs. Flaherty now had to be conciliated. 
And the conciliation would not be an easy 
affair, since Mrs. Flaherty — besides being a 
very neat woman who abominated all sloven- 
liness, and the slovenliness of Mrs. McLane- 
han in particular, as being a most unlovely 
kind — had a tongue in her mouth that could 
be, upon occasion, like a whip of scorpions, 
though she never railed or used violent 
language- Moreover, Mrs. Flaherty was 
the nearest neighbor Maggie had, and an 
intimate friend of Mrs. Cloonon^s. 

“I wish Bill had more judgment!” ex- 
claimed his mother fretfully to herself when, 
after days of trying, she found herself no 
nearer her aim than before. ‘‘Why couldn’t 
he let out somebody else’s chicken, and leave 
Mrs. Flaherty’s alone? I’ve no doubt she 
knows more about Maggie than anybody 
else, without it’s Mrs. Cloonon, and I’ve 
to be trying and trying to get hold of what 
93 


Maggie McLanehan 


I ought to know, so I ought, seein* Dave's 
her uncle. And never a scrap of news of 
any sort can 1 pick up. It's ‘Yes,' and 
‘No,' and ‘It’s a fine day,' and ‘ I'm thinkin' 
we'll have rain to-morrow,' till I'm sick of 
the sound of the words. For what's the 
weather to a body that wants to hear about 
something else besides that, and sly slams on 
my housekeepin' from that Mrs. Flaherty?" 

She had found out what Maggie made at 
Mr. Haymaker’s from a discontented fellow- 
worker, who received only half as much ; but 
for the discovery of what Maggie was paid 
at the restaurant, the neighbors seemed to be 
her only hope. She could not understand 
their sudden and extreme reticence upon all 
subjects, not knowing that they had lately 
found out her habit of retailing all she heard 
to Mr. McLanehan at meal-time, in the hear- 
ing of Bill, who afterwards very promptly 
spread the whole abroad upon the streets, 
at the same time proclaiming positively who 
it was that had told his mother. 

There are few things, however, that can- 
not be accomplished by diligence and perse- 
94 


Maggie McLanehan 

verance. It was the very day that Mrs. 
McLanehan retired in triumph to her home, 
that Mrs. Flaherty chanced to express to 
Mrs. Cloonon her wonder in regard to Mrs. 
McLanehan’s recent interest in all that con- 
cerned Maggie. ‘‘It can’t mean that they 
think she’s working too hard, can it?” she 
asked. 

“Not a bit of it,” returned Mrs. Cloonon, 
positively. “ Such lazy bones as is in all the 
McLanehan family beyant, meaning Dave’s, 
know’s nothing about work, nor whether it’s 
hard or not.” 

“ Maggie does work awful hard,” ob- 
served Mrs. Flaherty, sympathetically. 

“That she does,” answered Mrs. Cloonon. 
“Too hard entirely. And them Dave Mc- 
Lanehans are prying into her affairs for no 
good. If you’ll do what I think best, you’ll 
throw dust in their eyes.” 

“And how?” asked Mrs. Flaherty. 

“ Why, make as poor a mouth as you can 
over Maggie. If need be, you can lament 
that she don’t make more’n she does ; and 
that’s true enough, for she’d like to be mak- 
95 


Maggie McLanehan 

ing more if she could, seeing there’s nothing 
to her but ambition and grit. And, above 
all, don’t you let ’em find out how much she 
does make, for between you and me, it’s 
wonderful how she can make so much as she 
does, and her going on sixteen. I don’t 
know e’er another girl in Teepleton that 
could do it.” 

‘‘ Nor I,” agreed Mrs. Flaherty. ‘‘And 
so good as she is to Nora, too ! But what 
ever do Dave McLanehan’s folks want to 
find out all about it for? ” 

“ Dave McLanehan’s Maggie’s uncle,” 
replied Mrs. Cloonon, and I don’t want to 
say no evil of him; and as I can’t say any 
good. I’d best keep still about him. But you 
just think him and his ways over, and you 
won’t need to ask no questions.” 

Mrs. Flaherty turned a speculative eye 
on Mrs. Cloonon and ventured, “ I’ve heard 
he’s a great one for borrowing and never 
paying. He can’t get trust at none of the 
stores.” 

Mrs. Cloonon raised her eyebrows and 
drew down the corners of her mouth. “ I 

96 


Maggie McLanehan 


ain’t saying nothing about Dave McLane- 
han, you’ll mind, seeing he’s Maggie’s uncle, 
and she never says aught against him to me. 
But this I will say — there’s cases where com- 
mon reports is true.” 

Mrs. Flaherty looked first reflective, and 
then indignant, as the possibility of Dave 
McLanehan’s borrowing Maggie’s hard- 
earned money dawned upon her. 

‘‘ They’ll get plenty of dust if they come 
around me any more, Mrs. Cloonon,” she 
said, ‘‘ and I won’t promise you there wpn’t 
be a few grits in it, and I’ll warn the other 
neighbors, too.” 

“All I say is, be cautious. There’s right 
ways and wrong ways of warning,” re- 
sponded Mrs. Cloonon. And then the two 
parted, not knowing that their decision had 
been made too late. 

“The old rascal that he is!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Cloonon to herself. “ I’m not forget- 
ting that evening six weeks ago when he come 
after Maggie. He’ll not get hold of her 
earnings if I can help it.” 

She stepped into Maggie’s room through 
97 


Maggie McLanehan 


the dividing door, and there was Bill Mc- 
Lanehan close outside one of the windows 
and flattening his nose against a pane. 

“ Be off with you ! ” cried Mrs. Cloonon, 
rushing to the door. ‘‘And don’t you come 
here no more.” 

“ Huh ! ” called back Bill, from a safe 
distance. “Wait till we get Maggie to our 
house to live ! Pa says she’s a minard, and 
she’ll have to come if he says so. I guess I’ll 
be lookin’ at her things all I want to then.” 

At this Mrs. Cloonon gasped. She knew 
nothing about the law of the state, and Bill’s 
repetition of what his father had said as to 
Maggie’s being a minor frightened her. 
“ They’ve found out some way how much 
she’s got,” she thought. “ Oh, the poor 
child ! Dear she is to me, as I never 
thought any but my own could be. And 
little Nora, too. He shan’t get ’em ! Not 
till I’ve done what I can to thwart him. 
Maggie’s working too hard, so she is, but ’tis 
hope and havin’ her wages keeps her up. 
She couldn’t do it if she was drove continual 
and got nothing for it.” 


Maggie McLanehan 

Slowly she closed Maggie’s outside door 
and returned to her own part of the house. 

“And is that his game now?” she con- 
tinued. “ I see it all. Take her in and give 
her a poor, mean home, such as a cat wouldn’t 
live in, and then drive her to work early and 
late, and take all her wages, saying she’s a 
minor. Well, planning ain’t doin’, Dave Mc- 
Lanehan, as you’ll find. Oh, you old rascal ! 
Your dead brother’s child, too! If Maggie 
was lazy and shiftless like yourself, would 
you be talking about minors and coming to 
take her home? No, that you wouldn’t, 
not if she was two or three minors instead 
of one. ’Tis her wages you are after, and 
the things her Aunt Maggie left.” 

She sat down to think. “ I’ve got to 
warn her,” she said at last, “or she’ll fall into 
his trap, sure. And while I’m warning. I’ll 
tell her the whole story. She’s got to know 
how mean he is, even if he is her relation. 
I’m thinking she guesses it already, though 
she won’t say nothing against him. And 
why shouldn’t she know it, when there’s never 
a rascal going that hasn’t got good relations? 

LofC. 99 


Maggie McLanehan 


The rascals in this world would have it as 
fine as they could wish, if everybody was to 
let 'em run on account of their nice relations. 
I know there's some that thinks that's the 
way it should be done, and they're the ones 
that's always for balking justice. But 'twon't 
be that way in the Last Great Day; for 
then a bad man's good relations won't be no 
excuse for him; and sure, what's best for 
that day is best for now." 

So far as Mrs. Cloonon herself was con- 
cerned, there was silence at the Cloonon sup- 
per-table that Friday evening; but blithely 
the recently returned Mollie's tongue ran on, 
as she entertained her father and the boys 
with details of her trip. It was Uncle Barney 
did this, and Uncle Barney said that; and 
as all the doing and saying on the part of 
Mr. Barney Cloonon seemed to be only a 
remarkably short preface to something espe- 
cially delightful, which would otherwise have 
been missed, she had deeply interested audi- 
tors. “And Uncle Barney said," she ended, 
“ wait till next summer, when another excur- 
sion comes along, and he's going to take both 


lOO 


Maggie McLanehan 


of you boys and leave me to home.” And the 
gay and thoughtless girl made a mouth of 
pretended vexation, while her father and 
brothers smiled. Then up they all got from 
the table, supper being over, and made ready 
to go down town to the open air band con- 
cert, which was given every Tuesday and 
Friday in the public square. 

“Will you come, too, mother.? ” asked 
Mollie. 

“ No, no,” was the prompt response. 
“ Run along with you, and have a good time. 
I must stay to home to-night.” 

And now Maggie herself was almost home 
and lightly stepping along, wheeling the go- 
cart. Her day at Mr. Haymaker's had been 
an unusually happy one. The work had been 
lighter than common, and Mrs. Haymaker 
had been especially kind. “ Tm doing well,” 
said Maggie to herself, as she thought of her 
slowly swelling hoard of money, which was 
already large enough, with her frugal habits, to 
stand the strain of several weeks of enforced 
idleness, if such a strain should come. “ 1 can't 
be much longer at Mr. Haymaker's, and 


lOI 


Maggie McLanehan 


Tm sorry for that, too, but maybe there's 
more work I can get to do. Once let me 
get Nora into the cooking-class ladies’ kin- 
dergarten, and I can have more time to work 
for Mrs. Martindale, if she wants me. O, 
I’m doing well.” And she smiled. 

Just then Mrs. Dave McLanehan looked 
out and saw her husband’s niece passing, and 
she saw the smile. Folks may well be 
smilin’ when they’re a-gettin’ a dollar a day 
and dinner and supper throwed in,” she 
said. “ I’ll be smilin’, too. I’m thinkin’ 
when Dave brings Maggie here and I 
get her dollar a day for what I’m needin’ 
myself.” 

Meanwhile Mrs. Cloonon stood at the 
outer door of her deserted kitchen looking 
out for Maggie, with a heavy heart. ‘‘ You 
may say what you like about being cheerful,” 
she thought; ‘‘there’s times when it can’t 
be done, and this is one of ’em.” 

“I’m that worried that I can’t even wash 
my dishes, though it would pass the time, 
too. But here I must stand a-watching. As 
if watching could keep off the evil ! But 


102 


Maggie McLanehan 


maybe it will, after all. Being careless won’t 
do it, anyway.” 

At last she saw the young girl coming, 
and she went in and closed her door. ‘‘ Let 
me not face her yet,” she said. “ ’Tis best 
that she gets Nora to bed first.” 

The well-trained Nora was already drowsy, 
and in a few moments Mrs. Cloonon judged 
she might enter. So she walked into Mag- 
gie’s room unceremoniously through the di- 
viding door. 

“Well, Maggie dear,” she began, as she 
seated herself, “what sort of news is it I’ve 
always been bringing you ? ” 

“ Good, and naught but good,” replied 
the girl, with an affectionate smile. 

“ You’ll pardon me for once bringing you 
bad news, then ? ” 

“That I will,” responded Maggie, still 
smiling. “ What’s amiss ? There can’t be 
much, I know.” 

“ But there is, Maggie dear,” said Mrs. 
Cloonon, soberly. And then she began and 
unfolded Mr. Dave McLanehan’s scheme, so 
far as it had come to her knowledge, rein- 
103 


Maggie McLanehan 


forcing what she had seen and heard, with 
such sagacious insight that Maggie turned 
pale. 

“ I won’t go ! ” she exclaimed. 

^‘That you won’t, if I can help it,” de- 
clared Mrs. Cloonon. But we must be 
cautious. What with his talking about mi- 
nors, he may have the law on his side. And 
a queer sort of law it must be that would be on 
the side of the likes of Dave McLanehan. 
Still it may be, and if it is, we’ll have to beat 
round him in some way, for leaving the law out 
of the question, ’tis the right is on our side. 
There’s a difference in minors. I’m thinking; 
Bill himself would be a minor if his father 
and mother was gone. And seeing ’tis only 
just and right that you should have your 
own earnings, why it must be that Dave 
McLanehan will be trying to make out you’re 
the sort of a minor that Bill would be. And 
we’ve got to beat him someway. And so 
this is my plan. If your Uncle Dave comes 
here to see you and you catch sight of him in 
time, — and you must catch sight of him, — 
come into my kitchen and hide till he’s gone. 

104 


Maggie McLanehan 


For weVe got to stand him off someway, and 
hiding’s the best way to do it, I’m thinking. 
For how do we know what’ll happen, if your 
uncle once goes to the court a-making out 
you’re the kind of a minor that needs look- 
ing after ? ” 

Here he comes now!” cried Maggie, in 
a low tone, as her uncle’s burly form loomed 
large in the dim moonlight. 

‘‘Run then, Maggie! Softly, like a cat, 
and pull the door to behind you. When 
he knocks on your door he’ll find me.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


I T was no part of Mrs. Cloonon’s policy to 
antagonize Maggie’s uncle more than 
was necessary. ‘Hf you’re going to stand 
anybody off, the first thing to do is not to 
rile ’em,” she said to herself in that brief 
moment before Mr. McLanehan’s knock 
sounded. “There’s the knock for you! 
’Tis fit to rouse the neighbors, so it is, if 
only it was louder and the neighbors to 
home instead of to the concert.” And 
then, very deliberately, she arose and opened 
the door. “ Good evening, Mr. McLane- 
han,” she said. 

“ Good evening,” responded the caller, 
shifting his ungainly weight uneasily from one 
foot to the other. He was a rather stupid 
man, of few resources, and having come to 
see Maggie, he was disconcerted to find Mrs. 
Cloonon instead of his niece. 

“ This is one of the times,” thought Mrs. 


Maggie McLanehan 

Cloonon, enjoying his awkward silence, 
“ when a body don't want to tell all they 
know, but let the likes of Dave McLanehan 
imagine all they want to." 

Is Maggie in the room with you there?" 
he asked presently. 

‘‘No," replied Mrs. Cloonon pacifically. 
“Maggie's not in the room just now. 'Tis 
myself that's here just, and little Nora that's 
fast asleep. “I'll light the lamp." 

She did so and then, turning again to the 
man at the door, she said, politely, “ And 
will you walk in a bit, Mr. McLanehan?" 

At first Mr. McLanehan looked unde- 
cided. He wished to see Maggie that even- 
ing. Then he thought, “ Most like she'll be 
cornin' home before long. And here's Mrs. 
Cloonon, like the magpie that she is, askin' 
me in. Being a woman, she's bound to be 
tellin' all she knows, so she is, and I'll be 
findin' out in one evenin' more than Bridget's 
found out in two weeks. For what does Brid- 
get know anyway but a few of the facts, and 
the rest of it guesswork? And what kind of 
facts has she got ? Most like, crooked ones. 

107 


Maggie McLanehan 

*Tis myself will be soon knowin* the whole 
business/' So in he stepped, with an ingra- 
tiating smile, and took a chair. 

The battle was now set, though Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan did not dream it, Mrs. Cloonon 
looked so amiable there in her chair. For 
while Mr. McLanehan was well used to 
charges in the open field, of masked batteries 
other than his own he knew nothing. 

The best way to find out all a woman 
knows is to put her in a good humor," 
thought Mr. McLanehan. “And it's no 
difference how good a humor she's in, it 
don't hurt nothin' to put her in a better 
one." And while he was thinking this, 
he was still smiling broadly upon Mrs. 
Cloonon. 

“ 'Tis yourself is lookin' like a girl almost, 
Mrs. Cloonon," he began. 

“And do you think so?" returned Mrs. 
Cloonon, with pretended gratification. “I'm 
not so old as some, I believe, by a few 
years." 

With unconcealed delight Mr. McLane- 
han received this answer. “ She'll be like 

io8 


Maggie McLanehan 


wax in my hands/' he thought, and then 
added aloud, “Sure, and that’s so. You’re 
not so old as a good many, if a body’s to 
judge by your looks.” 

Mrs. Cloonon tossed her head in well 
simulated scorn of those women, whoever 
they might be, that should presume to call 
her as old as themselves. And now Mr. 
McLanehan, judging the time to be ripe for 
disclosures on the part of Mrs. Cloonon, 
heaved a sigh. 

“And what’s on your mind?” cried Mrs. 
Cloonon, who read him like a book. “ Sure 
you don’t mean to tell me some of your 
folks is sick ? ” Up went her eyebrows and 
down came the corners of her mouth, and 
there was deep concern in her voice as she 
said, “ Don’t tell me Bill’s took down ! 
Though it’s no more than a body might 
look for, him being your oldest son, and out 
in all sorts of weather. ’Tis very frequent 
that it’s the oldest son that’s took sick, Mr. 
McLanehan, when it ain’t the youngest, or 
one of the girls. All children is liable to it, 
so they are.” And Mrs. Cloonon seemed so 

109 


Maggie McLanehan 

sympathetic that Mr. McLanehan was quite 
taken in. 

“ ’Tis the way of the women to be al- 
ways imaginin’ somebody’s sick,” he thought, 
disgustedly. “And all on account of their 
likin’ to give other folks bitter doses.” Then 
aloud he said, “No, there’s none of ’em 
sick. Bill nor none of ’em. I was sighin’ 
to think of my niece Maggie and little Nora 
without a home. They’d ought to be with 
me, Mrs. Cloonon. That would be the place 
for ’em. What with me, and Bridget, and 
Bill, and Tim, and Katie, and Mary, and 
Jack, there’s something goin’ on at all hours, 
and it’s a lively place. Not still, like this 
one room.” 

“ Yes,” thought Mrs. Cloonon. “With 
all them there’s likely to be something going 
on at all hours, and from what I hear, ’tis 
mostly rows. But let me not think of them 
things now. My business is to throw him 
off the track.” 

“ They’d ought to be with me, Mrs. 
Cloonon,” reiterated Mr. McLanehan. 
“ That’s the place for ’em.” 


no 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mrs. Cloonon held up her hands. 

“And with a wife and five children to 
keep, is it yourself would be that generous 
to take in two orphan girls P There's not 
many would do it. And sure that's the 
reason there's so many orphan asylums, so it 
is, on account of uncles a-saying, ‘ Let the 
girls look out for themselves, and the boys, 
too, for that matter. I've got enough of my 
own to keep.' But maybe you ain't thought 
what a burden two girls can be. And are 
you sure your wife would be willing, when 
Maggie and Nora ain't no kin to her? 
Wives had ought to be asked about these 
things, so they had, and not have orphans 
shoveled onto 'em without asking." 

“ Bridget's willin', Mrs. Cloonon, and 
more than willin'. 'Twas her that showed 
me my duty in the matter, and I've thought 
about everything," replied Mr. McLanehan, 
grandly. “ Maggie's my own brother's 
child, and how does it look for her to be ofiF 
in one room by herself a-tryin' to bring up a 
three-year-old child when she ain't sixteen 
yet? " 


Maggie McLanehan 


“True enough for you!'’ cried Mrs. 
Cloonon. “ It is a hard thing she's set 
herself to do. And she feels it, too. 'Twas 
no more than a month ago she was that down 
in the mouth a-thinking about the winter 
coming, when living would be dear; and it is 
dear, Mr. McLanehan, all on account, as 
some says, of the coal dealers, but I'm think- 
ing it's the cold weather myself, for there's 
places where living in the winter ain't dear, 
you know, like Florida and them places." 

“Ah!" remarked Mr. McLanehan, a 
trifle impatiently. “ I know naught of them 
places. You was sayin' Maggie was down 
in the mouth?" 

“ So I was," answered Mrs. Cloonon, with 
perfect amiability. “ And 'twas on account, 
as I told you, of the living being dear in the 
winter, and her having naught but odd jobs 
to depend on. Sure, and if you can get all 
the odd jobs you want they're as good as 
regular work any day, but the trouble with 
odd jobs is, sometimes there's plenty of 'em 
and again there's none. Well, as I was tell- 
ing you, I had quite a to do cheering her up. 


112 


Maggie McLanehan 

Says I, ‘You're right, the winter’s coming, 
and after that the summer again.’ For 
there’s naught to be gained, Mr. McLane- 
han, by denying facts like them, that every 
child knows.” 

For a moment Mr. McLanehan looked 
suspicious. This statement did not tally 
with his wife’s glowing reports of Maggie’s 
fortunes. And then his expression changed. 
Mrs. Cloonon seemed so innocent. And he 
reflected that, according to his own previously 
formed judgment of her, she was probably 
telling all she knew. “ It’s not the truth 
Bridget’s been bearin’, for sure Mrs. Cloonon 
livin’ in the house with the girl ought to 
know,” he thought. “ Bridget’s always 
lookin’ for money in unlikely places, so she 
is. ’Twas herself thought we had coal oil 
on our place once, and ’twasn’t our place 
neither, seein’ we only rented it. But she 
wanted me to dig for it, and all on account 
of Bill throwin’ a quart of kerosene in the 
well. Still, I’ll ask a few more questions to 
make sure.” 

His silence had now been so long that 
113 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mrs. Cloonon began to grow uneasy. And 
it was with relief she heard him say, “I’m 
told, though, that she’s doin’ very well out to 
Haymaker’s.” 

“ So she is,” cried Mrs. Cloonon, heartily. 
“And if one swallow made a summer, she’d 
be fixed for the rest of her life, so she would. 
But you must remember that there’s pickin’ 
at Haymaker’s but a short time at best, 
and that in summer, when living is cheap. 
That’s what was fretting Maggie awhile back, 
as I was telling you. She was fearing to 
find herself idle on her own hands when win- 
ter come. Shall I tell her she can come to 
you when all else fails, you being her father’s 
brother? ” 

Mr. McLanehan hesitated. Then he said, 
“ I think I’d best tell her myself, Mrs. 
Cloonon.” 

“No doubt you’re right,” agreed Mrs. 
Cloonon. “ ’Twould come best from you, 
sure.” 

Mr. McLanehan now turned his eyes on 
the window, where the obnoxious sign made 
a dark spot against the panes. “Yon’s a 



“ None but a loony would put it there.” 


115 



4 


Maggie McLanehan 


great sign ! ” he said, contemptuously. “None 
but a loony would have put it there, I’m 
thinkin’.” 

“ It is a great sign, sure,” assented Mrs. 
Cloonon. 

“Is she likely to be puttin’ more to it? 
She’s got but two things on it as yet. ” 

“That I can’t say,” returned Mrs. 
Cloonon. “ It all depends on whether she 
does or not.” 

“Well, between you and me,” said Mr. 
McLanehan, rising to go, “ strange reports 
get spread abroad. ’Twas my wife was tellin’ 
me how she was sure Maggie was gettin’ 
rich, and all because she’s gettin’ a dollar a 
day at Haymaker’s.” 

Mrs. Cloonon nodded. “You mind I 
was telling you one swallow don’t make a 
summer,” she said. 

“Sure and you was, and it’s the truth and 
no report, as I’ve known ever since I can 
remember.” And with a farewell, Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan withdrew. 

He was no sooner out of sight than Mrs. 
Cloonon pulled down the shades and called 


Maggie McLanehan 

Maggie. “There/' she said, “ I might have 
stood on the steps with my arms akimbo, and 
told him he was the very rascal that he is, 
and all the good it would have done would 
have been to make him bound to get you 
and Nora. As it is, I didn’t lie to him, and 
he don’t know what to think. He don’t 
want you now so much as he did when he 
come, but there’s no knowing how things will 
turn. His wife’s eager for your work and 
your money. I’m thinking she’ll make his 
ears hum when he comes home without 
you.” 

If Mrs. Cloonon had been a concealed 
listener in the McLanehan home after Mr. 
McLanehan’s arrival, she would have found 
her surmise correct. 

“And how did you make out?” cried 
Mrs. McLanehan, the moment her husband 
came in. 

“ Well enough,” he returned,indifferently. 

“ And when’s she cornin’ ? ” 

“ I don’t know that she’s cornin’ at all,” 
was the answer. “ I didn’t ask her, and I 
don’t know as I’m goin’ to, neither. I’ve got 

ii6 


Maggie McLanehan 

a big enough family as it is, without addin’ 
two more to it. There’s plenty of orphan 
asylums, and mighty few uncles that would 
do it.” 

At this his wife stared blankly. Then 
she looked sharply at him. “You ain’t seen 
her at all,” she said. 

“No more I have, nor I don’t know as I 
want to,” came the indifferent answer. “I’ve 
been makin’ inquiries myself, and you’ll find 
one swallow don’t make a summer, nor it 
never did, as I’ve heard my grandfather 
say.” 

For five minutes Mrs. McLanehan was 
silent, and for that length of time Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan imagined the subject was closed; 
but the sixth minute he discovered his mis- 
take. “ Who’ve you been talkin’ to ? ” she 
demanded. 

“ Mrs. Cloonon,” he answered. “And 
a smart, tidy woman she is.” 

“And was Maggie standin’ by, with no 
tongue in her mouth ? ” 

“ Of course not. She wasn’t to home.” 

His wife made a gesture of disgust. “ I’ve 


Maggie McLanehan 


no patience with you, Dave McLanehan,” 
she cried. “ Don’t you know Maggie never 
goes nowhere of nights and couldn’t be hired 
to? She was hid into Mrs. Cloonon’s. Most 
like she run when she seen you cornin’.” 

Mr. McLanehan’s face darkened. ‘‘ If I 
thought so — ” he began. 

“ If you thought so,” mimicked his wife. 
“ I know so.” 

“And how are you knowin’ it, when you 
wasn’t there?” asked Mr. McLanehan, who 
was loth to admit. that he had been made a 
fool of. “If she’d been there, sure Mrs. 
Cloonon would have said so. She’s one of 
them women that tells all she knows.” 

Mrs. McLanehan laughed derisively. 
“ She’s one of them women that never tells 
anything only what she’s a mind to. She 
never tells lies; I’ll say that for her; but 
when she’s done with you, you don’t know 
where you are. I’ll be bound you’re 
thinkin’ now that Maggie’s as poor as a 
mouse.” 

“ She is, too,” boldly declared Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan. 


ii8 


Maggie McLanehan 


‘‘She ain’t. Would Mrs. Cloonon be 
standin’ up for her if she was, and tryin’ to 
keep her away from us that have got a right 
to her work and wages, seein’ you’re her 
uncle and she’s a minor ? Does anybody 
want a poor orphan, without they can make 
something by it ? ” 

And now conviction sat upon Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan’s countenance. “You’re right!” 
he exclaimed. “ The next time I go after 
Maggie, Mrs. Cloonon won’t be by.” 


CHAPTER IX 


HE next morning Maggie rose depressed 



A She was in the condition of not knowing 
what she had to fear. She had all that awe 
of the law common to the simple and the 
uninformed, — an awe which wins many an 
unscrupulous lawyer his case without ever 
bringing it into court. She was a minor, and 
even Mrs. Cloonon did not know what the 
next of kin, in the shape of a determined 
uncle, might have it in his power to do. And 
added to this awe of the law was a dread of 
the court, which made the girl fear to resist. 
To her free and independent nature, thought 
of bondage to her Uncle Dave was intoler- 
able. She was willing to work, and work 
hard, and the right sort of a home would 
have been as a haven to her ; but not such a 
home as her Uncle Dave’s. There disorder 
and riot reigned. Cuffs were the children’s 
lot when they happened to be in the way of 
Mrs. McLanehan, while the worst misbe- 


20 


Maggie McLanehan 


havior went unrebuked so long as it did not 
personally annoy the mistress of the house. 

With an anxious heart Maggie wakened 
Nora, and at the usual hour set out for Mr. 
Haymaker’s, casting a timid glance at the 
forbidding and dingy little house where her 
uncle lived, as she passed. Her uncle alone 
she could defy; her uncle backed by the law 
filled her with terror. I’ve got to keep out 
of his sight,” she said. ‘‘ It’s all I can do. 
I’ll go home another road to-night, if it is 
longer. I’ll not pass this way again.” 

At first, upon receiving her husband’s 
report, Mrs. McLanehan had decided to 
send him back the next evening after Mag- 
gie, but, on second thought, she changed 
her mind. “You needn’t go for a few days, 
Dave,” she said. “ That Mrs. Cloonon will 
be smart enough to be watchin’ for you, with 
Maggie hid away somewhere. Let ’em get 
quiet in their minds like, and then you can 
go. If Maggie won’t come with you peace- 
able, you’ll have to go before the coorts and 
get made her guardian. I’m told ’tis easy 
enough done, and the cost of it will soon be 


Maggie McLanehan 


made up out of Maggie's wages. The next 
coorts ain’t for six weeks anyway, so we can 
take things slow and easy, if we want to.” 

I’m down on the coorts,” declared Mr. 
McLanehan. 

“ The coorts ain’t goin’ to hurt you when 
it’s only to be gettin’ made a guardian you 
go to ’em, no more than they’ll hurt you 
when you’re after a marriage license. Of 
course, when you’re took up for stealin’, 
that’s different.” 

“You don’t get marriage licenses from 
the coorts, woman. ’Tis at the coort house 
you get ’em. You’ve got things mixed.” 

“ That’s neither here nor there,” re- 
torted Mrs. McLanehan. “We’re talkin’ 
about Maggie now. And I’m sayin’ it’s 
best to let things rest for several days.” 

“ I’m not carin’,” returned Mr. McLane- 
han, who, in all affairs, preferred to act at 
any time but the present. “ She’ll still be 
earnin’ and her money won’t spoil, for she’s 
one of the savin’ sort, and it’ll keep all right, 
so it will.” 

It was the following Tuesday before Mrs. 


122 


Maggie McLanehan 


McLanehan noticed that she had not caught 
so much as a glimpse of Maggie. “ Is she 
sick, I wonder, and not workin’, and usin’ up 
her money besides ? ” she said. You’ll find 
out. Bill, for I’ll not go near that Mrs. 
Cloonon’s.” 

Heedfully Bill watched that day, for to 
watch people was the one thing he was ever 
willing to do. 

“ She ain’t sick,” he reported. She’s took 
to goin’ home from Haymaker’s another 
way.” 

“Ah !” thought Mrs. McLanehan, filled 
with triumph over her own sagacity. “ I 
see it now. She’s skulkin’ out of sight. 
’Tis well I told Dave to wait a bit before 
going again after her. If she was to take a 
notion to run off, she could get a good ways 
before six weeks was over and the coorts 
set. 

But Maggie had no thought of running 
away. Where had she to run, except to utter 
strangers? And Maggie feared strangers as 
much as she loved her friends. 

It was now mid- August, and the next two 

123 


Maggie McLanehan 


weeks were the longest in Maggie’s life. 
Each day she toiled, fearful that the evening 
might see her led away captive to her uncle’s 
home, and at night she slept fitfully, haunted 
by the same premonition. And she grew 
thin and pale. 

“ Why can’t they leave me in peace ? ” she 
thought. ’Tis naught I want of them but 
to be left alone with Nora.” 

The first of September came, and her work 
at Mr. Haymaker’s was ended. It was the 
middle of her first unemployed forenoon, 
and her liberty was yet untouched by her 
Uncle Dave. Maybe he’s got out of the 
notion of wanting me,” said Maggie, hope- 
fully. “ I’ll ask Mrs. Cloonon if she thinks 
so.” ^ 

But before she could go to ask, a farm 
wagon drove up and stopped before the house, 
and she was startled by a loud call from the 
driver. 

Mrs. Cloonon rushed to her door, and 
as soon as her eyes fell on the man in the 
wagon she cried out, delightedly, “And is 
that you, Barney Cloonon? Tie your horses 

124 


Maggie McLanehan 

just, and then in with you. Tm glad to see 
you.” 

His face wearing a broad smile, Mr. Barney 
Cloonon climbed down from the high seat 
of his wagon, tied his horses, and then ad- 
vanced to meet his sister-in-law. And in a 
twinkling, the door had shut visitor and 
hostess from Maggie's sight, though the 
sound of their cheerful voices still came to 
her from the adjacent kitchen. 

“ The way I felt when I heard Mr. 
Cloonon calling, 'tis that way Til feel when 
Uncle Dave comes for me,” said Maggie, 
— as if the heart was dying in me. It must 
be he's coming for me, sure, or I wouldn't be 
dreading it so much." 

The sound of voices ceased in the kitchen, 
but Maggie did not notice. Neither did 
she notice the closing of Mrs. Cloonon's 
door, nor the driving away of the team as she 
sat near her table, her outstretched arms 
upon it, and her weary young head resting 
upon them. 

She was roused a half-hour later by Mrs. 
Cloonon, who came bustling in. Now I've 
125 


Maggie McLanehan 


the plan for you, Maggie dear,” she began. 
“ Here’s Barney come to town full of the idea 
of taking Mollie out to the country with him 
for two weeks, and it’s Mollie that can’t 
abide the country. You’d ought to see how 
down in the mouth Barney was when I broke 
it to him that he’d best be giving up that 
notion at once. For Barney and Margret 
have never a chick nor a child, do you see, 
and they’re that lonesome and hungry for 
young company that, when there comes a 
time when there ain’t so much doing on the 
farm, why, Barney he goes out and hunts for 
somebody to come and visit ’em. I’m not 
denying it was Mollie he come for; but 
seeing he can’t get Mollie, he’s willing to 
take you and little Nora.” 

That last sentence had almost defeated 
Mrs. Cloonon’s kindly plan, for Maggie 
was high-spirited, and not at all anxious to 
go with any one who was simply willing to 
receive her. Her head lifted, and Mrs. 
Cloonon saw objection written on her face. 

‘‘ Don’t speak yet, Maggie dear,” she 
said. I want you to go. It’s borne in 

136 


Maggie McLanehan 


on me that we ain't seen the last of your 
Uncle Dave, though 1 had hoped so till 
this morning. If you're safe out of town, I 
can deal with him better than if you was here. 
For, sure, nine miles in the country is farther 
off than the next room. And I've found out 
he's going to have one more peaceable try 
after you, and then, if he fails, he'll go to the 
court. And 'tis our part to put off his 
chance for a peaceable try as long as we can." 

Then Maggie softened. I might have 
known you was thinking of my good," she 
said, affectionately. 

Mrs. Cloonon smiled. “ I don't know 
when ever I was so glad to see anybody as I 
was to see Barney," she said. For what 
do you think that Bill was saying in the 
street this morning? " 

Maggie looked eager and expectant, though 
she spoke no word. 

“ There's one good thing about Bill," 
continued Mrs. Cloonon — ‘‘good for other 
folks, I mean. If there's any meanness hatch- 
ing out to home, he's sure to go and give it 
away. He was making his brags in the street 
127 


Maggie McLanehan 

this morning, and he ain’t got no other place 
to make ’em neither, and ’twas to that Darcy 
boy — him that has the pug dog, you know.” 

Maggie nodded. 

He’s been missing his pig considerable, 
and ain’t got nothing yet to take the place 
of it. And he says, ‘ You needn’t be stuck 
up about your dog. I’m to have one, too, 
before long.’ 

“ For sure, it’s little the Darcy boy will 
have to do with him, and Bill’s laying it to 
his being stuck up. ’Tis a notion he gets 
from his mother, for she thinks every person 
that’s cleaner and tidier than she is, is stuck 
up, and sure and that’s everybody, for it has 
to be. 

‘And when will the likes of you get 
money enough to buy a pug dog ? ’ says the 
Darcy boy. ‘ Pugs is high.’ 

“‘You wait,’ says Bill, ‘till we get my 
Cousin Maggie to our house. She’s a mi- 
nard, and pa says he can take all she earns, 
and ma says I can have one of them dogs, 
too. She says they mind her some of pigs, 
only their heads is different, and the marshal 

128 


Maggie McLanehan 

won’t be gettin’ after ’em ’cause they snap 
and bite.’ 

‘‘‘Well, I wouldn’t be naming my pug 
dog if I was you,’ said the Darcy boy. ‘Ain’t 
that your cousin that lives in the same house 
with Mrs. Cloonon ? ’ 

“‘Yes,’ says Bill; ‘and we’ll get all her 
things when she comes to live with us.’ 

“ ‘ I don’t believe she’ll come,’ says the 
Darcy boy. ‘ She’s a nice girl.’ 

“ ‘ She will, too,’ says Bill. ‘ My pa says 
he’s her next of kin, and ’tain’t right for her 
to be livin’ alone that way, and he’s goin’ to 
make her come and live with us. But he 
says he’s goin’ to try to get her peaceable, if 
he can.’ 

“ ‘Your pa’s a big man, ain’t he ? ’ says 
the Darcy boy, and then he goes off with his 
pug and leaves Bill behind. And all this I 
heard with my own ears, having slipped out 
to get a piece of salt pork to put with the 
beans for dinner. And I’m glad I did, for 
Barney likes beans wonderful, and he’s going 
to stay to dinner. Shall I tell him you’ll 
go?” 


129 


Maggie McLanehan 

“ Yes! yes 1 ” cried Maggie. 

“ Get your things together then/’ said 
Mrs. Cloonon, ‘‘ and take every stitch of 
your clothes, both yours and Nora’s, for 
I’ve been telling Barney you could, maybe, 
stay longer than two weeks. And you will, 
too, if I see ’tis best.” 

Maggie rose from her chair hurriedly, and 
then paused before she had taken a step. 
“There’s Mrs. Martindale, and Wednes- 
days and Saturdays,” she said. 

“ I know it,” responded Mrs. Cloonon. 
“ I was round to see her just before I come in 
here. Barney went down to do a little trad- 
ing, and feed his team at the sheds, and I went 
along that far. And Mrs. Martindale she 
says, ‘ Maggie’s my right hand, but go she 
shall if you think best.’ 

“ ‘ I do, ma’am,’ I said, ‘ and thank you 
kindly for the lady you are.’ And now have 
you any directions to give ? ” 

“No,” said Maggie. 

“ I have, then. Lock your outside door 
and put the key in your pocket. Your 
Uncle Dave won’t get in through my kitchen 

130 


Maggie McLanehan 


to go rummaging around, and he’ll find it’ll 
take more than him being next of kin to set 
him straight with the law, if he tries opening 
locked doors and windows. And now I 
must see to my beans, and set the table, for 
Barney’ll be back directly.” 

Back he was, and Maggie looked at him 
through the window, as he came up to the 
door, with a new interest. A large, jolly- 
looking man he was, with a tanned face and 
grizzled beard. And meeting his honest 
glance, she felt at once that she could trust 
him. Little Nora’ll take to him,” she 
thought. He’s the very sort to be giving 
her a ride on his shoulder, and being awful 
kind every way. I hope his wife will be like 
him.” 

Presently Mollie, who had heard the news, 
came in. ‘‘Well, I’m glad it’s you instead 
of me that’s going,” she said, with a wide 
yawn. 

“ I should think you’d like to go,” re- 
sponded Maggie. “Your uncle looks such 
a nice man.” 

“Oh, he’s nice all right. Uncle Barney 


Maggie McLanehan 


is,” agreed Mollie. And then seating her- 
self she said nothing more, but vigorously 
chewed gum while she watched Maggie’s 
simple preparations. ‘^You’ll be dead tired 
of the country,” was her final remark, 
as she rose to answer her mother’s call to 
dinner. 

Maggie, however, was undismayed. Her 
tastes and Mollie’s were very different. 

At two o’clock the farm wagon again 
drove up to the door, and the little Nora and 
Maggie and Maggie’s big bundle of clothes 
for both were driven away, happily unseen 
by Bill. The last straggling houses of the 
town were presently passed, and the horses 
were briskly trotting onward past stubbly 
grain fields that alternated with green fields 
of corn. 

‘^And how far is it?” asked Maggie, 
politely. She did not remember exactly 
what Mrs. Cloonon had said. 

“ Nine miles just,” was the pleasant an- 
swer. 

Maggie sighed happily. To ride that 
distance under the blue sky, and see the roll- 
132 


Maggie McLanehan 

ing prairie on either side of her, over which 
shadows chased, would have been delightful 
to her at any time. But to-day the thought 
that she was free from the persecution of 
Mr. Dave McLanehan for two whole weeks 
was such a relief that her spirits rose high. 
Shadow might chase shadow over the fields. 
In Maggie's young heart there was only sun. 
But she was such a quiet girl that no one 
was any the wiser. Only little Nora felt an 
added tenderness in her care, and Mr. Barney 
Cloonon, as he talked with her, was sure 
that his wife would be glad to see her. 

‘Mt beats me," he said to himself, as, 
after turning over the team to one of his 
men, he walked to the house, where he had 
already left Maggie and Nora, ^‘how Mollie 
can stay cooped up in town when she could 
have got out for two weeks as well as not. 
It's all right to live in town, of course, if 
you have to. And some has to, or where 
would the towns be, and the sheds for feed- 
ing the horses, to say nothing of the stores 
to do your trading in ? But sure, if I was 
one of 'em. I'd think I was in hard luck, and 


133 


Maggie McLanehan 


a body wouldn’t have to ask me twice to get 
me to visit ’em for two weeks.” 

Maggie might be a very pleasant girl, but 
the honest uncle could not but feel that his 
invitation had been slighted. 


CHAPTER X 


T he morning after Maggie’s departure 
Mrs. McLanehan rose very sour. She 
looked around her disarranged house with 
eyes that seemed for the first time to note 
its confusion. Maggie would soon be 
settin’ things to rights if I had her here/’ she 
remarked in a surly tone. “ ’Twas Mrs. 
Flaherty was makin’ some of her offensive 
remarks about slatterns yesterday — her that 
has but one child, and that one as prim as 
a wooden image. Would she be slick and 
clean if she had five full of life like Bill? 
That she wouldn’t, bad luck to her! ” 

‘‘Will Maggie be makin’ us slick and 
clean, ma ? ” asked little Katie, wonderingly. 

“ She will that, or I’ll know why. Them 
that’s orphans has got to work, particular 
when their uncle takes ’em in and gives ’em 
a home.” 

“ Sam Darcy was sayin’ he didn’t believe 
135 


Maggie McLanehan 

she’d be cominV* observed Bill. “He said 
she was a nice girl.” 

Mrs. McLanehan scowled. “ Sure, and 
that’s the luck I have from one end of the 
year to the other,” she cried. “ Mrs. Fla- 
herty speakin’ of slatterns, and the Darcy 
boy sayin’ Maggie ain’t cornin’ to us because 
she’s a nice girl. More’n like she won’t 
come to us, but it won’t be because she’s a 
nice girl. It’ll be because your father’s that 
slow goin’ after her, to see if he can get her 
peaceable, that the girl will be old and gray 
and all of us dead before he gets her started. 
’Twas but yesterday I sent him, and he didn’t 
go. But what good is it sendin’ the likes of 
him ? ” 

Mr. McLanehan now put in a word from 
where he sat impatiently waiting for his 
breakfast. “ If I was as slow about gettin’ 
Maggie as you are about gettin’ the breakfast, 
you may well say she’ll be old and gray and 
all of us dead before we see it cornin’.” 

Mrs. McLanehan sniffed. “ And that re- 
minds me,” she said, “Mrs. Flaherty was sayin’ 
something yesterday, too, about gluttons.” 

136 


Maggie McLanehan 


“What’s them, ma?” asked Bill, with a 
lively interest. 

“ Them’s men,” was the reply, “ that’s 
worse nor the pigs about wantin’ their meals, 
and can’t wait for their victuals to cook, es- 
pecial when the fire’s poor on account of no 
kindlin’ at all.” 

“ Hi ! ” exclaimed Bill, with a dancing 
step or two, “Pa caught it that time!” It 
must be admitted that Bill greatly enjoyed 
these encounters of his parents, and cared not 
in the least which came off conqueror. 

Mrs. McLanehan smiled, while Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan muttered that Mrs. Flaherty had 
best keep a civil tongue in her head ; and 
for a time there was peace. 

“ Now, Dave McLanehan,” demanded 
his wife, when breakfast was over, “do you 
mean to go after Maggie or not? You’ve 
got the day on your hands, and can sure 
spare that much time from your loafin’. I 
told you to go yesterday, and the day before 
that, so I did, and you never went near. 
Are you goin’ to-day ? ” 

“ Why, I was thinkin’ some of it before 
137 


Maggie McLanehan 


I heard so much about Mrs. Flaherty. I 
don’t know now whether I will or not.” 

With that he lounged out at the door. 
‘‘’Tis as well to be master in your own 
house,” he said to himself. “ She can lord 
it over Maggie, if she wants to. And seein’ 
she seems to be spoilin’ for a chance of lordin’ 
it over her, I don’t know but I’ll go to see 
the girl after all.” Accordingly he walked 
as straight as his feet could carry him to 
Maggie’s door, where he knocked loudly. 
But the door did not open. Mr. McLane- 
han, however, was not at all disturbed. He 
seldom was disturbed by any obstacle there 
might be in his path. 

“ Most like she’s off pickin’ something at 
a dollar a day,” he said. ‘‘ Any time will do 
for me. The more she gets, the more there’ll 
be to hand over when the time comes.” For 
he was as ignorant of the law as Mrs. Cloonon 
or Maggie, and imagined that he had a legal 
right to stretch out his hand and take the 
girl and all she had. 

At noon he lounged home to dinner. 

‘‘And here you are,” cried his wife, “and 
138 


Maggie McLanehan 

Tm glad of it. Look, just, at little Katie’s 
shoes — the best she’s got. I’d like to have 
money for a new pair. I think likely you’ve 
got it, seein’ you’re so slow about gettin’ 
Maggie, that would work and earn for us all.” 

‘^Whisht, woman! You’re enough to 
craze a man. I was to Maggie’s this mornin’ 
and nobody was there. I think she’s off 
pickin’ something for a dollar a day.” 

‘‘ Then do you go again, Dave McLane- 
han, this evenin’ when her day’s work is 
done. Have you the heart of a father in 
you, to look at little Katie’s shoes and do 
naught about gettin’ new ones for her ?” 

She’s always wantin’ new shoes,” growled 
Mr. McLanehan. 

‘‘ And what if she is ? Will shoes last 
forever on the feet of a child that’s lively 
like Katie, and wadin’ all the ditches she 
comes to, besides kickin’ things out of her 
path, and scrapin’ her toes in the cracks of 
the sidewalk ? They might do on that Janie 
Flaherty that goes tip-toin’ the minute she 
sees a dirty spot, and puttin’ up the little 
nose on her as if the street was beneath her. 


139 


Maggie McLanehan 

And while we’re talkin’ I’ll just tell you now. 
I’ll not have that little Nora Garity in my 
house ; she’d be bringin’ in naught for 
years, and thinkin’ herself better nor my 
children besides. I’ve took notice of her, 
and she’s enough like that Janie Flaherty to 
set me against her entirely.” 

‘‘But what’ll I do, then?” asked Mr. 
McLanehan, bewildered. “ I can’t go tellin’ 
the like of that to Maggie, when Nora’s the 
light of her eyes. What ever would become 
of Nora, anyway ? ” 

“That’s neither here nor there,” retorted 
Mrs. McLanehan. “Nora’s Maggie’s cousin 
on her mother’s side, but she’s no kin to us 
at all. ril not have Maggie’s earnings wasted 
on Nora when my Katie ought to have ’em.” 

For a little time Mr. McLanehan sat still 
in astonishment. Then he said: “You 
mind the things down to Maggie’s room is 
Nora’s, being left her by her mother. I 
thought you was lookin’ to get them. 
They’re pretty good things, too. The 
stove’s got four feet to it, and ne’er a crack ; 
the table legs ain’t whittled none, nor kicked 

140 


Maggie McLanehan 

into bruises ; the lookin’ glass is whole ; 
there’s a rockin’ chair with ne’er a rocker 
broke off it, and the seat’s in it, too ; and 
there’s quite a store of dishes, to say nothin’ 
of the bed and many other things.” 

As Mr. McLanehan thus displayed with 
his tongue these riches of little Nora, he 
looked hopefully toward his wife, to see her 
relent in the child’s favor to the extent of 
permitting her to remain with Maggie ; for 
to separate the two seemed an enormity, even 
to him. But his wife was flint. ‘‘ Let ’em 
go,” she said, briefly. “ I don’t want ’em no 
more. They’re old-fashioned, anyway, and 
I can get new ones with what Maggie earns.” 

That was a busy afternoon for Mrs. 
McLanehan who, in imagination, entirely 
refurnished her house at Maggie’s expense, 
making the best room gorgeous as a rainbow 
with a blue sofa, a green drape, a red carpet, 
yellow ribbons for the curtains, a purple lamp 
shade, and a pink table mat. And she was 
in great, good humor when, in the evening, 
she started her husband once more after 
Maggie. “ If it was my niece. I’d have gone 


Maggie McLanehan 

after her long ago ; but bein’ it’s yours, Dave, 
I had to be standin’ back and pushin’ you 
forward, do you see ? ” she said. 

The pushed-forward Dave acknowledged 
that he saw, and obediently departed. “Sure,” 
he grumbled to himself, “ if it was bare dirt 
instead of the sidewalk I’d have a path wore to 
Maggie’s door, so I would. I’m goin’ there 
so often. But there’s no such thing as wearin’ 
a path in a sidewalk without it’s winter, 
and snow on everything, though there is 
such a thing as broke boards and holes in 
’em, and I’ve stepped in one now.” He 
limped painfully for a few steps, for the hole 
had been a tight fit for his big foot. But he 
had no time for further rumination on side- 
walks, for, as he drew near his destination, he 
became absorbed in his own awkward case of 
having to take Maggie and leave Nora. “I 
hate to tell her, so I do,” he said, as he reached 
out his fist and knocked on the door. And 
after waiting a few moments, he was not sorry 
to be obliged to put off his evil day and go 
away without admittance. “ Sure, it’s no way 
to do, separatin’ them two anyway,” he said. 

142 


Maggie McLanehan 


“ What did she say ? asked his wife 
when he came back. ‘‘ Was she pleasant, 
or mad about it ? ’’ 

‘‘ Neither the one nor the other, for sure, 
and she ain’t there any more than she was 
this mornin’, and I don’t know what to make 
of it. I might have knowed, too, she wasn’t, 
before I got there, for I stepped in a hole 
in the sidewalk and like to broke the foot of 
me. And sure, that was a sign to be turnin’ 
back and goin’ no further, only I kept on, and 
small good did it do.” 

Without a word, his wife threw an old shawl 
over her head and hurried down the street, 
stumbling as she went. For in her eager- 
ness to see the light in Maggie’s windows, she 
gave no heed to her steps, and jostled the 
passers, much to their indignation. But the 
windows were dark ; she was obliged to admit 
that when she herself stood before them. 
She knocked, but received no reply. 

‘‘Ah ! ” said Mrs. Cloonon to herself. 
“ Knock away. Maggie didn’t go any too 
soon, I’m thinkin’.” 

“And do you believe me now?” asked 
143 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mr. McLanehan, when his wife came in with 
a puzzled face. 

“ I do/’ was the answer. Where ever 
can the girl be gone ? You’ll go again in the 
mornin’ to find out. And if she ain’t there, 
you’re to ask Mrs. Cloonon. I won’t have 
nothin’ to say to her. ’Twas herself was 
sayin’ I was a loud-voiced, quarrelsome 
woman.” 

The next morning Mr. McLanehan, who 
was not working that week, set off betimes. 
Once more he knocked on Maggie’s door, and 
silence was his answer. Then he betook 
himself to Mrs. Cloonon’s part of the house 
and knocked there. Promptly the door flew 
open, and he was asked politely into the 
kitchen, where Mrs. Cloonon chanced to be 
alone. 

‘^And ’tis a fine morning, Mr. McLane- 
han,” observed Mrs. Cloonon, when he was 
seated. 

Yes, so ’tis,” was the reply. I was to see 
Maggie yesterday, and she wasn’t to home.” 

Mrs. Cloonon nodded wisely, as if to say 
it was just like Maggie to be from home. 

144 


Maggie McLanehan 


I was to see her again this mornin’,” 
went on Mr. McLanehan, “ and she’s gone 
again. Is she off pickin’ something?” 

That I can’t say, Mr. McLanehan. She 
may be picking up a bit of ease and rest 
as a pleasant change from working so hard, 
but I can’t say.” 

Mr. McLanehan stared. Then he asked. 
Is little Nora with her?” 

Of course she is. Do you think Maggie 
would go anywhere and leave Nora behind?” 

‘‘Why, she’ll have to leave her behind 
when she comes to live with me,” said Mr. 
McLanehan, eager to shift his disagreeable 
task of telling Maggie to somebody else. 
“ My wife don’t want Nora, do you see? 
She’s willin’ for Maggie to come, but not 
Nora. Will you tell her that when she 
comes home?” 

“To be sure I will,” answered Mrs. 
Cloonon. 

“ I’m thinkin’ she’ll be home this after- 
noon?” he said, inquiringly. 

“Well,” responded Mrs. Cloonon, “ I’m 
not looking for her to come then. She 
14s 


Maggie McLanehan 


locked up her door, and took all her clothes 
and Nora’s, for a friend wanted the two of 
’em to come visiting.” 

‘‘And when will she be back, do you 
think ? ” 

“That I can’t tell you exactly,” replied 
Mrs. Cloonon, pleasantly. “ Y ou know visits 
is pretty much like other things. Some of 
’em is longer than others.” 

There was a short silence. Then Mr. 
McLanehan said angrily, “The lazy, idle 
girl to leave her chances to be earnin’, and 
go gaddin’ about! But no doubt she left 
the key with you, and as there’s no tellin’ 
when she’s cornin’ back. I’ll just go in and 
look things over a bit. I’m her next of kin.” 

Mrs. Cloonon’s face expressed nothing of 
the indignation that she felt, and her voice 
was as pleasant as ever, as she said, “ I can’t 
let you have the key, Mr. McLanehan, owin’ 
to the fact that Maggie put it in her own 
pocket, and took it with her when she went 
away.” 

Suddenly Mr. McLanehan rose and ad- 
vanced to the dividing door, which he was 

146 


Maggie McLanehan 


sure led into Maggie’s room. He turned 
the knob vigorously, and gave it a jerk. But 
the door was locked, and the key nowhere 
to be seen. 

“ I told you her part of the house was 
locked up,” said Mrs. Cloonon, reproachfully. 

“ I don’t know what to think,” declared 
Mr. McLanehan. “ She’s my dead brother’s 
child, so she is, and livin’ alone the way she 
hadn’t ought to be, and when I offer her a 
home she runs away.” 

“Oh, no, Mr. McLanehan!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Cloonon. “ Don’t say that ! She’s 
just gone visiting. And if she stays longer 
than she thought to stay when she went, you 
mustn’t be too hard on her. All young folks 
likes to get away from work once in a while, 
some of ’em liking it so well that they won’t 
do nothing from one year’s end to another. 
If she’d run away, she’d have took all her 
things with her, don’t you see ? And you 
can go outside^ so you can, and look in at 
’em through the window. You’ll find ’em 
all there, barrin’ her clothes and Nora’s.” 

Mr. McLanehan was now ready to depart. 


Maggie McLanehan 

and Mrs. Cloonon did not seek to detain him. 
“ Sure, and he’s a dumb man,’' she observed? 
looking after him. “ It’s my belief that lazy 
rascals like him is mostly dumb. ’Tis easy 
to see it’s his wife that’s settin’ him on ; for 
while he wants Maggie for what she can earn, 
he’s far too lazy to keep after her, and only 
for his wife he’d leave her alone.” 


148 


CHAPTER XI 


M eanwhile Maggie was having a 
fine time at the farm. She did not 
find that the country, as Mollie Cloonon had 
prophesied, made her “ dead tired.” There 
was so much to see and hear and do. Her 
Uncle Dave nine miles distant was a very 
different sort of bugbear from her Uncle 
Dave two blocks away, and her enthusiastic 
admiration of everything, at once won the 
hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Barney Cloonon. 

The childless couple, though they were 
very prosperous, lived simply in a plain brown 
house of six rooms. Mrs. Cloonon kept no 
help, because she preferred to do for herself 
and her husband, while Mr. Cloonon boarded 
his two regularly employed men, as well as 
his many occasional hands, at a neighbor’s. 
“ Sure and if that suits Margret, it suits me,” 
Mr. Barney Cloonon would declare. Thus 
there was a quiet leisure about the place which 

149 


Maggie McLanehan 


harmonized well with the wide and peaceful 
prospect, and which rested Maggie to her 
heart's core. 

“Just look at the little calf run, Nora 
darling," she was overheard by her host and 
hostess to say on the second morning of her 
stay. “ Sure and you won't see such a sight 
as that in Teepleton." 

“It is a truly calf," laughed Nora, glee- 
fully. 

“ Yes, darling, and yon's the colt. Look 
at the little heels of him flying in the 
air ! 'Tis a big horse he feels himself en- 
tirely." 

And nowin the pleasant kitchen there was 
a broad and delighted smile on Mr. Cloonon's 
face. “ She's the one," he said to his wife, 
“ to have for a visitor. The last time Mollie 
was down, do you mind ? " 

Mrs. Cloonon nodded. 

“ Sure, and she ain't more than two years 
older than this girl, and she never saw calf 
nor colt without having 'em pointed out to 
her, and she didn't care nothing for 'em then. 
‘ Oh, yes,' she says, sort of impatient, ‘ I've 


Maggie McLanehan 


seen them many times. They’re no sight.* 
Now I’m thinkin’ a little calf and a little colt 
is a new sight every time you see ’em. They 
are to me, anyway.” 

^^Sure, and they are to them that loves 
dumb things,” replied Mrs. Cloonon; ‘‘ but 
there’s them in the world that don’t care 
much for ’em, and Mollie’s one of ’em. 
She’s mostly for fine things, Mollie is. Did 
you take notice how them hotel parlors took 
her eye when we went on the excursion, 
and how she was ever ready to walk about 
in the big stores? ” 

“ I did,” said Mr. Cloonon. 

For a little time there was silence in the 
kitchen. Both Mr. and Mrs. Cloonon were 
too fond of Mollie to wish to criticise her 
very sharply, but they could not be entirely 
blind to her faults. It was Mrs. Cloonon 
who spoke first. “ Where’s the children 
gone to by this time? ” she said. I don’t 
hear ’em. They ain’t outside the window 
still, are they ? Look and see.” 

Cautiously Mr. Cloonon advanced to the 
window and peered out. Then with a radi- 
151 


Maggie McLanehan 

ant face he turned again to his wife. “ Where 
do you think they are ? ’’ he asked. 

‘‘ And how should I know ? ” returned 
Mrs. Cloonon with a smile. ‘‘ ’Twas myself 
that asked you.” 

Well, then, they’re down by the barn 
pettin’ the chickens. And the old turkey 
gobbler — him that’s so tame you know — is 
a-struttin’ and spreadin’ his tail, and makin’ 
a fine show of himself, like the proud rascal 
that he is. I can hear the little one laugh 
when I listen hard.” 

“Again Mrs. Cloonon smiled. “They’re 
good children, sure,” was her comment.” 

“ So they are,” agreed Mr. Cloonon. And 
then he went out to superintend his two 
men, while Mrs. Cloonon kept contentedly 
on with her housework. Though her domain 
was small, it satisfied her. She liked to sweep 
and dust, and cook and clean, for where ever 
she looked she saw evidence of her hus- 
band’s thoughtful regard, and it was a pleas- 
ure to her to prepare his food and wait upon 
him. 

“And how are you likin’ the country?” 

152 


Maggie McLanehan 


asked Mr. Cloonon at dinner that day, with 
well-feigned curiosity. ‘‘ It’s not fine like 
Teepleton, I’m thinking?” 

‘‘ It’s finer,” answered Maggie, earnestly. 

It’s nicer here than it was to Mr. Hay- 
maker’s even.” 

And where’s that? ” asked Mr. Cloonon. 

I never heard of him.” 

‘Ht’s out at the north edge of the town, 
where they have truck gardens,” replied 
Maggie. 

“ True for you,” responded Mr. Cloonon, 
thoughtfully. He knew little of what was 
north of Teepleton, his own farm lying 
to the south. ‘‘ I’m thinking they have 
no young things there? Calves and colts 
and such, I mean.” 

“ No, sir,” answered Maggie, respectfully. 
And so the talk went on during the meal, 
Mr. Cloonon’s pride in his own neighbor- 
hood and farm being justified by Maggie’s 
every word. 

‘‘Well,” he said at last, as he pushed back 
his chair, “ I don’t know what I’m going 
to do this afternoon, Margret. That boy 
153 


Maggie McLanehan 


that was to have come to pick them early 
apples sends word he ain’t coming. There’s 
a show up to Teepleton and he’s going 
to that. He’s gone too by this time. I 
can’t take either of the men from their other 
work, so I’m thinking the apples will have 
to keep falling off and being more or less 
wasted.” 

“ Oh, sir ! ” cried Maggie, who had pricked 
up her ears at the word pick^ ‘‘ let me pick 
’em for you! I’d love to. ’Twas picking 
things I done to Mr. Haymaker’s, and ’tis 
elegant work.” 

“Yes; but ’twasn’t apples you picked, 
I warrant,” said Mr. Cloonon, with a very 
kindly look on his face. 

“No more it wasn’t,” admitted Maggie; 
“ but it was strawberries, and peas, and rasp- 
berries, and whatever there was.” 

“You’re but a girl, Maggie,” interposed 
Mrs. Cloonon. “You couldn’t go climbing 
on ladders picking apples. There’s them, 
to be sure, that knocks ’em off with poles, 
saying you don’t expect early apples to keep, 
but that’s not Barney’s way. He says, 
154 


Maggie McLanehan 


‘There’ll be no bruises on ’em when I sell 
’em. If they want ’em all bruised up they 
can do that themselves hitting ’em on some 
gate-post or other.’ But he’ll take no money 
for bruised-up apples. And it’s but little 
money you get for that sort, either.” 

Mr. Cloonon smiled at this exposition 
of his views set forth by his wife in a man- 
ner which indicated that, in her opinion, 
her husband was to be ranked with the wise 
men of the earth. But his tone was firm, 
as he added, “No, Maggie, it wouldn’t do 
for you to pick apples.” 

There was great disappointment on Mag- 
gie’s face, for she was not only independent, 
but grateful, and liked to return kindness 
for kindness as far as she was able. Mr. 
Cloonon saw it, and remembering Maggie’s 
delight in the calf and the colt, he could 
not bear to cast a shadow on her pleasure 
in the farm and all her surroundings. “ Well, 
well,” he said, indulgently, “ a man can 
change his mind once in a while and be 
none the worse for it. Maybe she might 
pick a basket or two, Margret, if she is but 
155 


Maggie McLanehan 


a girl. You and Nora can go down and 
watch her that she don’t fall.” 

^ ‘‘ And what do you do with ’em when the 
baskets are full?” asked Maggie, smilingly. 

‘‘ Why the wagon’s down there with eight 
empty barrels in it. For I was looking for 
that boy, do you see? The apples has to be 
picked by hand into the baskets, and then 
took one by one and laid down in the bar- 
rels careful, so’s not to bruise ’em. The 
same handling that would do for eggs will 
do for them. Then there they are, ready 
to hook the horses right on, for I was going 
to town with ’em to-morrow. They’re early 
apples, as I was saying, but I can get a good 
price for all of ’em, having got my name 
up for selling naught but good ones. You 
mustn’t put no worm - eaten nor gnarly 
ones in.” 

Then Maggie’s eyes shone. 

‘‘ You look like you was going to a party,” 
said Mr. Cloonon. Don’t she. Mar- 
gret?” 

H is wife nodded, while Maggie said, “ I’m 
glad to do it for you. Next to Mrs. Cloonon 
156 


Maggie McLanehan 


in Teepleton, you’re the kindest to me of any- 
body since Aunt Maggie died. I’m well and 
strong, and I’m glad to do it for you.” 

Mr. and Mrs. Cloonon looked at each 
other. And then Mr. Cloonon said, ’Tis 
well my brother’s wife in Teepleton is good 
to you. You deserve it.” 

‘‘ I’m doing my best,” replied Maggie, 
modestly. 

An hour later Mrs. Cloonon, Maggie, 
and little Nora were on their way to the or- 
chard. Soon the trees were in sight on the 
gently sloping hillside, and Maggie’s sharp 
young eyes could see the ladders, and the 
wagon with the barrels. ‘‘I’ll not stop with 
one basket, nor yet with two,” she said to 
herself, “ unless Mrs. Cloonon gives the 
word.” 

The grass was long in the orchard, with 
here and there scattered bunches of golden 
rod, and the sun made patches of light and 
shade over it. 

“See the flowers!” cried Nora. 

“To be sure,” responded Mrs. Cloonon. 

But Maggie said nothing; her gaze was 
157 


Maggie McLanehan 


fixed on the trees. And presently the young 
girl, with all the intensity of her nature, was 
at work. 

Me to be watching her to keep her from 
falling ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Cloonon to herself. 
“ She’s as surefooted as a squirrel. There’s 
no fall to her. I’m thinking. I wish Barney 
could see her.” 

Without a word Maggie worked on, ut- 
terly absorbed in the task she had set herself 
— to fill those barrels. He shall go to 
town to-morrow if he wants to, so he shall,” 
she thought, “unless Mrs. Cloonon stops me 
before I’m done.” 

Down on the grass Mrs. Cloonon kept 
good watch on Nora, who was entirely con- 
tent to play in so beautiful a spot. But ever 
the eyes of the farmer’s wife would stray to 
Maggie. “She’s working liked she loved 
it,” she said to herself. 

When two barrels were filled Mrs. 
Cloonon had half a mind to stop her, but 
seeing Maggie’s enjoyment in her work she 
permitted her to go on. When four were 
filled, however, she was sure it was time for 
158 


Maggie McLanehan 


her to speak. Come, now, Maggie,” she 
called. “ Sure and you’ve done enough, and 
too much. ’Tis an elegant worker you are.” 

Maggie smiled with pleasure, and drop- 
ping her empty basket, seated herself beside 
her hostess on the grass. A little while she 
sat there talking, and then Mrs. Cloonon 
rose. “We’d best be going back to the 
house now,” she said. 

“ Oh, no ! ” begged Maggie. “ Please let 
me pick some more. There’s only half of 
the barrels filled by this time.” 

But Mrs. Cloonon was firm. * “ Here 
comes Barney with one of the men,” she 
said. “ He’s fixed it so’s the man can pick. 
Barney’s the manager ! ” 

“ Well, Maggie !” exclaimed Mr.Cloonon, 
as he drew near, “and did you get enough 
of picking?” 

“ That she didn’t,” answered Mrs. 
Cloonon, before Maggie could speak. “Only 
look what she’s done, and her begging to do 
more.” 

Mr. Cloonon walked over to the wagon 
and looked at the filled barrels. Then he 


159 


Maggie McLanehan 


came back. “I’d not have believed it,” he 
said, “ that a girl could have filled four bar- 
rels so quick and so good, for I suppose 
they’re all alike all the way down.” 

“Yes, sir,” replied Maggie, respectfully. 
“ Would I be putting in bad one’s and ruining 
your name entirely, as good as you and Mrs. 
Cloonon have been to little Nora and me?” 

“ No, Maggie,” said Mr. Cloonon, kindly. 
“ I can’t imagine you putting the bad into 
anything. It’s my belief you couldn’t do it. 
And but for yourself I couldn’t go with 
more than four barrels to-morrow, for that’s 
all the man will have time to pick.” 

Then Maggie was content to go with Mrs. 
Cloonon and little Nora to the house. As 
she glanced back, the orchard seemed more 
beautiful than ever, and everything she 
looked upon had taken on a new charm, for 
Maggie felt that she had done her part, and 
she was happy. 

The morrow came, and Mr. Cloonon went 
to town as he had planned, where his apples, 
with the exception of one bushel which he 
reserved for his brother’s family, were snapped 

i6o 


Maggie McLanehan 


up by the dealers. As usual, his sister-in- 
law made him most welcome, and besides 
that gave his present of apples such unstinted 
praise that his good face shone with pleasure. 

They are fine apples, I believe,” he said; 
and sure, that Maggie McLanehan’s the 
girl ! ’Twas herself picked four barrels of 
apples yesterday, owing to the fact that the 
boy that was to have picked 'em come to 
Teepleton to the show. I don't know what 
he's coming to, leaving his work to run to 
shows. Shows is all right, of course, when 
your work's done. But I'll say this, that 
only for Maggie just four barrels of apples 
would have been wasted for lack of getting 
picked and brought to town, for it's going to 
rain to-morrow.'' 

And then Mrs. Cloonon beamed. 

“ I knew you wouldn't be sorry if you took 
Maggie to visit you for two weeks,'' she said. 

“ Sorry, is it ! '' exclaimed Mr. Cloonon. 
‘‘Indeed, Margret and me's not sorry; far 
from it. But don't you say nothing about 
two weeks. Maybe I’ll bring her and the 
little one back then, and maybe I won't.” 

i6i 


CHAPTER XII 


H ROUGH that part of the county 



^ where Mr. Cloonon lived, the most en- 
terprising butcher in Teepleton sent his 
wagon on a weekly round, and he did a 
thriving business as it rolled along over miles 
and miles of country roads, for he was pat- 
ronized by every house. Maggie had been 
at the farm five days when the wagon drove 
up, and by this time Mr. and Mrs. Cloonon 
were doing all in their power to keep her 
and Nora contented. They measured her 
feeling for the country by Mollie’s, and 
fearing to lose her, put forth their best exer- 


tions. 


“ ril not take 'em back to that Teeple- 
ton in any two weeks if I can help it," de- 
clared Mr. Barney Cloonon. 

“ And I wouldn't have you do it either," 
returned his wife. ‘‘The little Nora is a 
darlint, and Maggie's a wonder, so she is. I 


Maggie McLanehan 


can’t stir to do a thing but she’s helping me, 
and in such a loving way.” 

The day that the butcher’s wagon came, 
Mrs. Cloonon had a severe headache. “ I’m 
sorry for it,” remarked Mr. Cloonon to him- 
self, as he walked out to the wagon, ‘‘but 
beefsteak’s town meat, and beefsteak I’m 
going to buy. Margret can’t cook it, 
sick as she is, but maybe I can. Maggie 
and the little one has got to be kept con- 
tented, and the man won’t be here again for 
a week.” 

So saying, Mr. Cloonon drew near the 
wagon, and after a brief parley with the 
driver, selected the finest steak in it, paid for 
it, and walked back to the house. Maggie 
happened to be in the kitchen when he en- 
tered, having come out to get Mrs. Cloonon 
a glass of water. 

“ It’s some steak I’ve got for supper,” an- 
nounced Mr. Cloonon, proudly. “As good 
as any in that Teepleton, I dare say.” 

Maggie looked at it. “ It is good,” she 
said, approvingly. “And is it yourself that 
likes steak?” 


163 


Maggie McLanehan 


do,” replied Mr. Cloonon. ‘‘Fm think- 
ing ’tis about the best meat going.” 

“Tm glad you like it,” said Maggie, smil- 
ing happily. “Fll cook it for you?” 

Then Mr. Cloonon felt himself to be in 
a trying position. ‘‘ I can’t cross her,” he 
thought, ‘^by telling her she can’t cook it, 
when we’re doing our best to keep her con- 
tented, and if I let her undertake it she’ll 
spoil it, till we might as well have bacon and 
done with it. For what would a young girl 
like her know about steak-cooking? No 
more than Mollie, I’ll be bound. And Mol- 
lie knows nothing at all, for her mother was 
telling me how cooking was something Mol- 
lie couldn’t abide, and sure I knew that 
before, seeing her never turn a hand to help 
Margret when she’s here a- visiting. Well, 
I’ll have to risk it.” Then he sighed. 
“How’s Mrs. Cloonon’s head?” he asked. 

“A little easier. I’ll take her this cool 
drink from the well. Then she’ll be drop- 
ping off asleep, and then when supper-time 
comes, and I’ve got the steak cooked. I’m 
thinking she’ll be able to eat a bit of it.” 

164 


Maggie McLanehan 


“Well, well,” thought Mr. Cloonon, 
looking after her, as she walked away with 
the glass of water. “Is she a young girl, or 
an old woman, I wonder?” And he went 
out to the field. 

“ ril be back in time to show her how 
Margret does it,” he thought. “And with 
the two of us we’ll have it cooked so’s we 
can eat it, anyway. I’ve eat a many things 
before now that wasn’t so good as they might 
be, and I’m none the worse for it. Still 
that’s not saying I want to be eating one 
more, and I don’t, neither.” 

But that afternoon, though he was quite 
as good a manager as his wife thought him, 
everything went wrong. One hindrance after 
another occurred, and it was later than usual 
when he gave his men their final instructions 
and started to the house. And the first thing 
he noticed as he entered was the savory odor 
of cooking steak, for Maggie had been watch- 
ing for him, and as soon as he reached the 
porch, put it in the pan. “ She’s got ahead 
of me, after all,” he thought. 

Maggie had indeed got ahead of him, for 
165 


Maggie McLanehan 


the first thing Mr. Cloonon’s eyes beheld on 
entering the house was the supper table ready 
laid, and even as he looked in at the dining- 
room door, he saw Mrs. Cloonon taking her 
seat at the table, a little pale, but, as her eyes 
showed, sufficiently recovered from her head 
ache to eat her supper. Steak wants to be 
eat hot,” explained Maggie, as she saw his 
wondering look, “ so I got all things ready, 
and asked Mrs. Cloonon to come out before 
I begun. A body just getting over the head- 
ache has to move slow and careful.” Then 
she turned .to the stove again, and gave her 
undivided attention to her cooking. 

Mr. Cloonon said nothing, but hastily 
prepared himself for his evening meal, and 
his heart was warm over those words of Mag- 
gie’s about Mrs. Cloonon. “ Sure and I 
know it’s sweet to Margret,” he thought, 
“to have somebody careful about her like 
that. What matter is it if she does spoil 
the steak? Loving care will make any sort 
of victuals taste good.” 

Being now ready he went to the table, and 
was no sooner seated than the steak came on. 


Maggie McLanehan 


Well, well ! ” he exclaimed, after the first 
mouthful. “Margret?*' 

“Yes,” admitted Mrs. Cloonon. “She 
can cook it better than I can.” 

“ I don’t believe they have it better than 
this to Mrs. Martindale’s restaurant,” de- 
clared Mr. Cloonon. “And the neighbor- 
hood’s ringing with the praises of the steak 
cooked there, so it is, and all the men going 
there for their dinners whenever they’re in 
town, just to be getting the steak. I never 
was there on account of hating to disappoint 
Tom and Katie, for they’ll ever be having 
me to dinner with them.” 

An expression of delight had now over- 
spread the young girl’s face, and she looked 
so conscious that Mrs. Cloonon asked, 
“What is it, Maggie?” 

“Nothing, ma’am,” answered Maggie, 
“ only I cooked the steak for Mrs. Martin- 
dale before I come here.” 

Mr. Cloonon ate a few more mouthfuls. 
After all, it did not seem so strange that 
Maggie should be able to cook well, for she 
belonged to that class of persons in whom 


Maggie McLanehan 


not excellence, but the lack of it, would 
be surprising, in whatever they undertake. 
Then he said, Fm wondering how she 
come to let you off. I’ll be bound she’ll 
be hard put to it while you’re gone. How 
come she to do it? ” And he regarded her 
with all the kindness of a father. 

Mrs. Cloonon in Teepleton went to her, 
sir, and told her she thought it was best,” 
replied Maggie, in a low tone. For sud- 
denly the remembrance of her Uncle Dave 
had come to cloud her joy. 

Mr. Cloonon, who was not a dull observer 
by any means, now saw that there was some- 
thing he did not understand, but he asked 
no more questions. ‘‘ I can wait till I get 
to Teepleton,” he said to himself. “Then 
I’ll go to see brother Tom’s wife. She’ll 
tell^me. I’m thinking. And if there’s them 
that’s making trouble for Maggie, let ’em 
look out.” 

That matter mentally settled to his satis- 
faction, he turned to Mrs. Cloonon, his hos- 
pitable, boyish heart in his face. “ Margret,” 
he said, “ ’tis long since all the neighbors 

i68 


Maggie McLanehan 


has been here together for a meal. What 
do you say to a beefsteak party, and Maggie, 
here, to cook the steak? That is, if she’s 
willing.” 

Willing ! Her shining eyes told how will- 
ing she was. And after one glance at them 
Mr. Cloonon smiled more broadly than 
before. “This here’s Monday,” he said. 
“How would Wednesday do?” 

“Wednesday will do right well,” replied 
Mrs. Cloonon, smiling in her turn. 

“Then a Wednesday morning I goes to 
town for the steak, and,” he added to him- 
self, “ I looks into what’s bothering Maggie 
at the same time.” 

Very early that evening the little house- 
hold went to rest, for Mr. Cloonon had de- 
clared, “ ’Tis a good night’s sleep will make 
Margret’s head like new, to say nothing 
of what it’ll do for the rest of us in the 
way of making us easy to get along with,” 
and he smiled, well pleased with his joke 
at the expense of the sunny tempers of all 
under his roof. 

“And it’s Tuesday that’s the fine day 

169 


Maggie McLanehan 

to be inviting folks ! ” exclaimed Mr. Cloonon 
in the’ morning, as he sat down to breakfast, 
‘^rd ought to have luck of a Tuesday.’* 

“ Hear to him now, Maggie,” laughed 
Mrs. Cloonon. “ He’d say the same for 
any other day in the week. ’Tis his way 
of poking fun at them that believes in signs.” 

‘‘And hear to her, Maggie!” exclaimed 
Mr. Cloonon. “ And look to see if I don’t 
have the luck.” 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Cloonon. “You 
can’t very well help having luck, Barney. 
If you get what you want, that’s good luck, 
and if you don’t, that’s bad luck. So what- 
ever happens, you’ll have luck.” 

Early after breakfast Mr. Cloonon started 
on his round, and as along with his informal 
and most cordial invitation went the infor- 
mation that Miss Maggie McLanehan, the 
girl who cooked the steak at Mrs. Martin- 
dale’s restaurant, was to cook the steak for 
the party, there arose a determination in the 
minds of all the invited not to be kept away 
by anything short of misfortune or disaster. 

It was, therefore, in the best of humors 


170 


Maggie McLanehan 

that, on Wednesday morning, the hospitable 
Mr. Barney Cloonon set out out for Teeple- 
ton, in search of the finest cuts of steak in 
the market. “And first I’ll look out for 
Maggie’s case,” he said, as he drove along. 
“ There shan't nothing come before that.” 

But he was to be disappointed; for 
when he drove up to his brother’s house, he 
found it closed and the door locked. 

“ What ever is up ? ” he exclaimed, in a 
puzzled tone. “ I never found Katie from 
home before.” 

He was about to drive away, with the re- 
solve to come again before he left town, 
when Mrs. Flaherty’s door opened and she 
herself came running out. 

“ And how do you do, Mr. Cloonon ? ” 
she cried. 

“ The better for seeing you, Mrs. Fla- 
herty,” was the gallant response. 

’Mrs. Flaherty smiled. “ And was it your 
sister-in-law you wanted to see?” she asked. 

“It was,” returned Mr. Cloonon. 

“ Sure ’tis herself will be sorry to miss 
you, but she was invited out to spend the 


Maggie McLanehan 


day, and she won’t be home before night. 
What will I be telling her for you ? ” 

‘‘ Why, nothing, only I’ll be coming again 
the next time I’m to Teepleton,” and with 
that he drove off after his steak. 

It was a most delightful day, and Mr. 
Cloonon, eager to be on hand to welcome 
the first guests, was speedily on the way 
toward home. Early in the afternoon the 
arrivals began, and the house was soon filled 
with cheerful badinage and gay laughter. 

Maggie, arrayed in her clean calico, at- 
tracted much attention. Her dark blue eyes 
were shining, and her white skin and black 
hair made a combination so unusual as to be 
the only one of the kind in the room; and 
Mrs. Cloonon enjoyed the admiration of her 
neighbors for her guest. Several of the 
matrons inquired of her if it would be too 
much to ask permission to stand near her 
and learn how to cook steak from Maggie. 

“We can all cook it passably well, of 
course, but not so well as you,” said one, 
when the desired permission had been cor- 
dially granted. 


172 


Maggie McLanehan 


Sure, and that’s no shame to you,” de- 
clared Mr. Cloonon, who was everywhere. 
“ I’ve been eating steak fifty years, and never 
did I put into my mouth such steak as 
Maggie cooks. And I’ll not be owning 
I’ve been eating after poor cooks all these 
years.” • 

As for Maggie, the happiest moment in 
her life was when the farmers’ wives gath- 
ered about her, watching her every move- 
ment, and she felt that she had it in her 
power to give them something that they 
wanted, as well as to please Mr. and Mrs. 
Cloonon. “ Sure,” she said, when all were 
seated and discussing the steak, I thought 
cooking it for hire was fine, but cooking it 
for love is better. I’m wondering if it ain’t 
always nicer to be doing for love than for 
hire ?*’ 

* ❖ 

“ Wednesday was the day for it,” re- 
marked Mr. Cloonon, on Thursday morning, 
as he stood at a window looking out at the 
falling rain. ‘^You’ll not say now I hadn’t 
luck of a Tuesday. And if you don’t own 
173 


Maggie McLanehan 


to it yet, you will later on, for it’s going 
to rain the rest of the week,” and he 
looked with mock gravity at his wife. 

Mrs. Cloonon and Maggie smiled. The 
party had been a success, and they could 
afford to let Mr. Cloonon have his joke. He 
proved a true weather prophet, for the rain 
kept steadily falling. Nor did it stop for 
Sunday, but kept right along into the next 
week. And it was still pouring when Mrs. 
Dave McLanehan sat down to read the latest 
issue of the Teepleton News, Slowly and 
rather laboriously she read along till finally 
she came to the account of the beefsteak 
party, sent up to the News by its regular 
correspondent for Mr. Barney Cloonon’s 
neighborhood, in which account Miss Mag- 
gie McLanehan was generously praised. 
Greedily Mrs. McLanehan read, and there 
was an evil look on her face when she laid 
the paper down. 

‘‘ A friend, was it, that invited Maggie 
and Nora to visit ’em? ’’she said, wither- 
ingly. “ Them Barney Cloonons may be 


174 


Maggie McLanehan 


friends to some, but they're no friends to me, 
even if I hain't ever seen one of 'em, and 
they hadn't ought to be to Maggie. I'll 
just show this to Dave when he comes 
home." 


i75 


CHAPTER XIII 


HE sun was within a few moments of 



^ setting when, at half-past five, Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan, marching Bill before him, passed 
through his sagging front gate, — a long- 
suffering gate that had creaked many a day 
under the burden of the McLanehan children 
swinging upon it. 

‘‘ ’Tis a great pity,” he said, as, opening 
the door, he thrust his son into the room, 
‘‘ that you can't have time to keep Bill in off 
the street when 'tis pouring rain. A drownded 
rat is nothing to him for wetness.” 

Mr. McLanehan, who drove one of the 
wagons of a dray line, had been having an 
easy time that day. For, there being not so 
much as i/sual doing, he had been let off. It 
did not occur to him to wonder why he was 
always the man let off while the other em- 
ployes of the line kept right along at their 
work in all sorts of weather. For he was 


Maggie McLanehan 


not in the least dissatisfied about the matter. 
“ Sure a man don’t want to be tied to his 
work in all weathers like a horse or a donkey,” 
he would say. “ ’Tis these sort of holidays 
that keeps my strength up.” And he might 
have added that his extremely moderate ex- 
ertions contributed liberally to the same end. 
The fact that an idle day meant no money 
did not disturb him, for he philosophically 
declared, ’Tis all the same at the end of 
the year, anyway. If I don’t bring home so 
much, we gets along ; and if I’m bringin’ 
home more, there’s none of it left,” which 
was a sharper comment on his thriftless wife 
than he realized. 

Bill being inside under shelter, Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan cleaned his feet and followed him, 
to be met by silence. His wife, making no 
reply to his reproof of her action in permit- 
ting Bill to be out in the rain, rose from her 
chair, and with a well-assumed languor, set 
about getting supper. And then big, burly 
Dave McLanehan began to look uneasy. 
This dead silence was but the forerunner 
of a domestic storm, and devoutly he wished 
177 


Maggie McLanehan 


that he had allowed Bill to get even wetter 
than he was. 

Still never a word spoke Mrs. McLane- 
han. Bill himself slipped unnoticed up the 
old box stairway to slide out of his wet clothes 
and into some dry ones. “ She’s a-gettin’ 
ready,” he thought. “ I wonder who’s been 
doin’ something? ” It did not strike him 
that he might be the culprit. Too many 
times had he come in dripping out of the 
rain to give that matter a thought. ‘‘ I don’t 
want to waste no time up here,” he said. I 
want to see what’s goin’ on downstairs.” 
So saying, he did such good execution on 
his toilet that in exactly five minutes from 
the time he went up, he was down again. 

The storm had not yet burst. Nothing 
was to be heard but the sizzling of the bacon 
on the stove, and the occasional creak of a 
chair as its occupant moved uneasily upon it. 
At last Mrs. McLanehan’s voice was heard. 
‘‘ Supper’s ready,” she said. And that was 
all. The meal was well over before she 
spoke again, and then it was to ask if her 
husband was going out that evening. 

178 



<1 


ril read it. 


f > 


f 




’ i 

I 

i 

i 


Maggie McLanehan 

I was thinkin’ of it, yes,’* he replied. 
‘‘You make things ’most too comfortable to 
home for a man to stay there long.” 

To this statement Mrs. McLanehan 
made no answer as she rose from the table 
and reached for the News, “ Here’s a piece 
in the paper I’d like you to be readin’ before 
you go,” she said. And she handed him the 
Teepleton News, with her finger on the letter 
from Mr. Barney Cloonon’s neighborhood. 

Mr. McLanehan took it, but his eyes 
had failed to be guided aright. He saw only 
that he was expected to read a newspaper 
letter from the country. 

“ Oh, be off with you ! ” he said, for 
he now saw that his wife’s wrath was not 
directed toward him. “ What do I care for 
the doin’s of them country jakes ? If it 
was town news I might read it.” 

“ Read it anyway,” insisted his wife. 

“I’ll do nothin’ of the sort,” retorted 
Mr. McLanehan. “I know none of ’em, 
and I care naught about ’em.” 

“Then sit down and I’ll read it. Hear it 
you shall,” was the determined response. 

179 


Maggie McLanehan 


Wonderingly Mr. McLanehan sat down, 
for there was a look of ill-temper in his wife’s 
eyes that he could not understand. “What 
ever’s in the paper to stir her up like that?” 
he said to himself “I’m glad it’s not me 
she’s mad with. I thought it was, when I 
come home.” 

His wife now began to read. And first 
his understanding took in that there had been 
a novel and most delightful beefsteak party 
at Mr. Barney Cloonon’s, to which all the 
neighborhood had been invited, and at which 
the summit of enjoyment had been reached 
by everybody. At this point Mrs. McLan- 
ehan paused to ejaculate with angry scorn, * 
“Mr. Barney Cloonon!” 

“Cloonon,” repeated Mr. McLanehan. 

“I mind now Tom Cloonon, up the street 
here, has a brother somewhere down in the 
country. Most like it’s him.” 

Mrs. McLanehan made no reply, but 
continued her reading, and presently Mr. 
McLanehan was in full possession of the 
fact that the success of the party had largely 


i8o 


Maggie McLanehan 


depended upon Miss Maggie McLanehan, 
who was highly complimented. 

“There!"’ exclaimed Mrs. McLanehan 
when she had finished, “and what do you 
think of that, now?” 

Mr. McLanehan was secretly proud that 
a McLanehan, and a relative of his own, 
should be so spoken of, but he instinctively 
felt that he had better conceal it. So he said 
lamely, “Think? Ah, yes. Think, now.” 

“Dave McLanehan!” cried his wife, an- 
grily, “I’ve no patience with you. There 
you sit starin’ and stammerin’. If you don’t 
know what to say, say nothin’, and I’ll do 
the talkin’. You’re her next of kin, and in- 
stead of bein’ here and doin’ her duty by you 
and yours, she’s down there to that Barney 
Cloonon’s, and gettin’ her name in the paper 
besides. Was ever any of our names in the 
paper? We might as well be nobodies for 
all the notice the papers takes of us.” 

“The marshal said he was goin’ to put 
mine in, if I didn’t keep off the streets more,” 
interrupted Bill. 


i8i 


Maggie McLanehan 


quiet now!” commanded Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan fiercely. And Bill obeyed. 

“How much are you earnin' in a week, 
Dave McLanehan? Is it five dollars?” 

“It’s six just when I’m puttin’ in every 
day.” 

“And is that enough to keep a woman 
and five children, and pay rent?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Mr. McLanehan, 
“whether it’s enough or not. The rent don’t 
bother me much, for I don’t pay no more of 
it than I have to. But women and children 
takes a lot these days.” 

“The more reason then that more money 
should be brought in,” retorted his wife. 
“In spite of that Mrs. Tom Cloonon and 
her deceivin’ talk I’ve found out what Mag- 
gie made last summer. Every day she went 
to Haymaker’s she made a dollar, and her 
dinner and Nora’s throwed in. So that dollar 
was ’most clear. Then the last of the time 
she worked for Mrs. Martindale she got 
seventy-five cents the day two days in the 
week. Say she picked four days in the week 
to Haymaker’s, and worked the other two at 

182 


Maggie McLanehan 


the restaurant, do you see, Dave McLane- 
han, she was makin* five dollars and a-half a 
week, and the most of two days to herself, 
to say nothin' of Sundays? Take that five 
dollars and a-half and add it to what you can 
make, and see if times wouldn't be easier for 
us all if we had Maggie here. Look what 
she could do for me odd times, and me drove 
by the work that's never done. I'd have her 
up before day every morning, and she could 
do the washing of a Sunday while I took 
my ease." 

Mr. McLanehan felt himself all but 
washed from his moorings by this flood 
of words. He had been of late secretly 
inclined to Mrs. Cloonon's supposed way of 
thinking in regard to Maggie, but he man- 
aged to say with a ludicrously cautious air. 
But you ain't took an average." 

“What's an average got to do with it. 
I'd like to know, that I should be takin' 
it? " said Mrs. McLanehan. 

“ If you was a man," replied Mr. McLane- 
han loftily, most like you'd know. All men 
that has sense takes averages, and some 
183 


Maggie McLanehan 


women. For, as is well known, one swal- 
low don’t make a summer.” 

“ There you go again ! ” cried Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan furiously, “ a-settin’ up that Mrs. 
Cloonon against your own wife. Do you 
think I don’t know who put that one swal- 
low idea into the head of you ? ” 

Mr. McLanehan’s eyes fell. He still 
thought Mrs. Cloonon a tidy, smart woman, 
but he did not dare say so. 

‘‘I was just goin’ to tell you,” he re- 
marked, in an abject tone, “ that many’s 
the day when Maggie don’t earn anything, 
the same as it is with myself, and you must 
count in them days with the days when she 
does earn. Then she might be gettin’ sick 
on our hands. She don’t get no five dol- 
lars and a half right straight along.” 

Mrs. McLanehan looked disgusted. 
‘‘You’re for all the world like a fiddle 
that won’t stay tuned, Dave McLanehan,” 
she said. “No sooner do I get you to the 
place where you can see what we could make 
out of Maggie, and get you into the notion 
of goin’ after her and bringin’ her here where 

184 


Maggie McLanehan 


she belongs (else why should her name be 
McLanehan and you her uncle), than you 
go slippin’ back like them fiddle strings I 
was tellin’ you of. And *tis myself knows 
the cause of it, too. For part of it is, you're 
that lazy if you have bacon and bread you 
don't want no more, so that it's too much 
trouble to you to go after her. And part 
is, you're listenin' to that Mrs. Cloonon. 
Now, what's the reason Maggie don't make 
five dollars and a half right straight along? 
Ain't it because she's a minor without sense 
or judgment? Only get yourself appointed 
her guardian by the coorts, and then we'll 
see if she won't earn every day. I'll attend 
to it." 

‘‘There is something in that," observed 
Mr. McLanehan reflectively. “She might 
be earnin' if she had somebody to put her 
to it. But she ain't home now. When she 
gets back from her visitin' I'll see to it." 

His wife made an angry gesture. “ It s 
a maddenin' man you are, and nothing else," 
she cried. “ Is it yourself that knows the 
winter's cornin', and Maggie hadn't ought 
185 


Maggie McLanehan 

to be losin’ a day if we’re to have what 
we need? ” 

“Well, I don’t see as I can do anything 
about it just now anyway,” he returned 
philosophically. “ It’s rainin’, do you mind, 
and late in the day, not to speak of the 
beginnin’ of the night, and no time at all 
to be settin’ off to the country to bring 
the girl back.” 

“Will you do it when it clears?” de- 
manded Mrs. McLanehan. 

For a moment he made no reply. 

“Will you, Dave? ” insisted his wife. 

“Well, when the mud dries up. I’m 
thinkin’ I might,” he answered. And with that 
Mrs. McLanehan was obliged to be content. 

And now the storm which had seemed 
so portentous had passed, seeing which, Mr. 
McLanehan took off his hat, hung it up, 
and then seated himself, declaring that it 
was too wet to go out anyway. 

“Ah, but wasn’t she cloudy though?” 
he thought, as he watched his wife out of the 
corner of his eye, and listened to the dying 
away thunder of such phrases as “ Barney 

i86 


Maggie McLanehan 


Cloonon, indeed!’' and “That Mrs. Tom 
Cloonon 1 ” spoken with contemptuous vim. 

“I’ve knowed her to raise a bigger fuss 
when she begun by not speakin’/’ he said 
to himself, “ but sure, this one was big 
enough. I thought myself would be drove 
out of the house one time there.” 

Mrs. McLanehan having now slammed 
away the supper dishes according to her 
own ideas of neatness and dispatch, nicking 
one and cracking two, herself sat down think- 
ing, “ What’s a nick or a crack more or less ? 
I can be gettin’ more dishes when I get hold 
of Maggie once.” And with that her brow 
cleared. 

“ I’m thinkin’,” she remarked, amiably, 
“ I’ll put Maggie to work in the factory 
this winter. The best woman they have 
workin’ there gets twenty-four dollars a 
month, and there’s no reason why Maggie 
shouldn’t do the same.” 

“Them factory girls looks awful pale,” 
observed Mr. McLanehan, uneasily. “ I’m 
thinkin’ you’d best put her at something else 
that ain’t so close into the house.” 

187 


Maggie McLanehan 


And what else is there that gets that 
much money in winter time, Dave McLane- 
han demanded his wife. “You'll just tell 
me that.” 

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” he replied. 
“ ’Tis little I knows about girls’ and women’s 
work.” 

“ I thought so,” returned Mrs. McLane- 
han. “ ’Tis them that knows least as is for- 
ever sayin’ what can’t be done. And as for 
lookin’ pale, ’tis your own family that will 
be lookin’ that same if they’re not provided 
for better. I’m goin’ to have a silk dress 
out of Maggie’s wages. See if I don’t.” 


i88 


CHAPTER XIV 


'^HE rain still continued to descend the 
next morning, much to Mrs. McLane- 
han's disgust, for she had had visions of her- 
self successfully compelling her reluctant hus- 
band to proceed at once to Mr. Barney 
Cloonon's farm, mud or no mud. It is a 
wise general who knows which way lies de- 
feat; and even Mrs. McLanehan knew suf- 
ficient of the nature of man to cause her, for 
the present, to abandon her plan. ‘‘The 
rain is like some people, so it is,” she grum- 
bled, “ always on hand when it ain't wanted.” 

As for Mr. McLanehan, he was well 
pleased with his reprieve — so well pleased 
that he observed, “AH folks is not alike, 
woman. No doubt there's them that likes 
the rain well enough.” 

“ And no doubt one of 'em's Dave Mc- 
Lanehan,'' retorted his wife. “For sure, 
and it gives him the fine chance to skulk out 

189 


Maggie McLanehan 

of bringin' Maggie home. 'Tis mostly 
skulkers that likes the rain anyway, I be- 
lieve, and them that’s wantin’ to catch rain- 
water in their tubs and barrels, bad luck to 
’em, when pleasant weather’s needed.” 

‘‘ Whisht, woman ! ” said Mr. McLane- 
han. “ I’ve the piece of news for you. 
There’s a show in town.” 

“And is that what you call news? I 
knowed that yesterday from Bill. He’s the 
one to be bringin’ home news of all sorts.” 

“ I’m thinkin’, then, he told you how to- 
night ladies goes in free. Well, 1 guess I’ll 
be goin’ now.” And he pushed back his 
chair from the breakfast table. 

“ And is that the kind of a show it is ? ” 
said Mrs. McLanehan, with lively interest. 
“ You’ll get a ticket for yourself, Dave, mind 
that. Don’t you come home without it. I 
need livenin’ up a bit, and we can afford it, 
too, with Maggie cornin’ to us.” 

“We can’t afford it, neither,” observed 
Mr. McLanehan to himself, as he lounged 
off to town. “ But I’ll do anything to stop 
her tongue, whether I can afford it or not. 


190 


Maggie McLanehan 


I wonder how the women come by them 
tongues, anyway.” 

Am I goin', ma ? ” asked Bill, after his 
father had gone. 

“Of course not,” was the reply. “Your 
time will come.” 

“ YouVe said that before,” whined Bill. 

“And ril say it again with something 
added to it that you won’t like, if you don’t 
keep still. Be off with you ! 

Accordingly, Bill was off. • 

Mrs. McLanehan was a large woman of 
the class styled strong and able-bodied. 
And at the proper time, arrayed in a cheap, 
last year’s, ready-made coat suit, with a 
diminutive bonnet, whose trimming was two 
bedraggled feathers, which nevertheless stood 
erect and seemed to be trying to climb up to 
the top of her head from behind, she stepped 
forth into the street accompanied by Mr. 
McLanehan. A small white veil was drawn 
tightly across her not too fair brow, and as 
she minced along holding her skirt in such a 
manner as to make her right elbow invade 
Mr. McLanehan’s share of the narrow walk, 


Maggie McLanehan 

and poke him sharply in the side every now 
and then, Mr. McLanehan, who was not a 
connoisseur in the appearance of women, 
thought, ‘‘ Bridget don’t look so bad.” 

“ And what sort of a show is it ? ” asked 
Mrs. McLanehan, in a simpering voice, that 
well corresponded with her unusual appear- 
ance. Is it a theater P ” 

I believe not,” returned Mr. McLane- 
han. “ It’s one of them shows they calls an 
entertainment.” 

‘‘And poor things they are, too,” com- 
mented Mrs. McLanehan. “With a little 
of this, that, and the other, no better than 
hash.” 

Then Mr. McLanehan, at that moment 
receiving an unusually sharp poke in 
the side, turned sulky. “’Twas yourself 
that was for cornin’,” he said. “You needn’t 
be blamin’ me. I didn’t get up the show.” 

“And I know that too,” said Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan. “If you had, ’twould have needed 
a sign like they used to have on the taverns 
— entertainment for man and beast — with the 
beasts gettin’ the best of it. But let’s not 


192 


Maggie McLanehan 


be havin’ words on the street. There’s 
plenty of time for them to home, and 
home’s the place for ’em, too ; that’s what 
homes is for, to have a place where you can 
speak your mind and do as you please.” 

“ I don’t want no words at no place,” re- 
torted Mr. McLanehan^ ‘‘but if that’s what 
homes is for, I ain’t got no home, and must 
be stayin’ to a boardin’ place, for I don’t do 
as I please by a long way.” 

Their arrival at the door of the opera 
house now put a stop to the argument, and 
Mrs. McLanehan, making a mental note 
of where she left off, with apparent meekness 
followed Mr. McLanehan up the stairs. 

But Mr. McLanehan was not to be de- 
ceived. “ What’s pleasant looks when 
Bridget’s got ’em ? ” he said to himself. 
“ They don’t mean nothing.” 

And then, with a flourish and a bang, the 
usher let down two chair seats in the gallery 
and the two seated themselves, Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan moving her head this way and that 
in a manner that seemed to indicate some 
new sort of hinge in her neck, as she scrutin- 
193 


Maggie McLanehan 


ized the house. A simple, direct turn of 
the head might do for home, but not here. 

A long while they sat while the house 
slowly filled, but finally the music of two 
violins and a piano ceased and the curtain 
went up. A little girl came out to the front 
of the stage, and in a thin, cracked voice, 
sang what was meant to be a pathetic song. 

“Well, Dave,” observed Mrs. McLane- 
han, when the child had retired, “youVe 
heard about the fool and his money before 
this, no doubt.” 

“I have, and I’m likely to be bearin’ of 
it again,” returned Mr. McLanehan reck- 
lessly. 

“And what of that P” said Mrs. McLane- 
han. “Poor folks had ought to be layin’ 
out their money judicious, and not spend it 
bearin’ children, that ought to be home and 
abed, squawkin’ before their betters. If 
you’d have been wise you’d have found out 
beforehand if it wasn’t to be a theater, what 
it was to be.” 

“I’ll be so wise next time that I’ll stay to 
home,” was the surly reply. 

194 


Maggie McLanehan 

Their conversation might have been over- 
heard but for the fact that all around them 
was such a babel and crunching of peanut 
shells that they saw they could safely indulge 
in any little disagreeable utterances they chose, 
and so the better bear their disappointment. 

But now the manager was on the stage 
endeavoring to be heard, and the audience 
seeing this, there fell such a sudden silence 
that his voice sounded like a roar as he 
announced three acts of the latest society 
play. 

‘‘Ah!’’ said Mrs. McLanehan; “that’s 
something like, I believe. We’ll have a little 
more use for society than we’ve had, when we 
get Maggie.” 

Now the company was so impecunious 
that it had no stage properties of its own, and 
so was obliged to depend upon what chanced 
in its way, and this, in the Teepleton Opera 
House, proved to be very little. There had 
been at one time a parlor, but that was so 
badly damaged that now the only setting for 
an interior was a queer something that rep- 
resented a kitchen as much as anything. 
195 


Maggie McLanehan 


Against this background such odd chairs as 
could be found in the dressing rooms were 
arranged ; and, arrayed in much bedraggled 
finery, the mimic society people made their ex- 
its and their entrances. The whole, however, 
would have been greedily swallowed by Mrs. 
McLanehan if it had not been for the text 
of the play, which had to do with the infa- 
mous conduct of an uncle and aunt, who 
sought to entrap a niece so as to enable 
themselves to lay hold upon her fortune. 

‘‘And do you call that a play?*' blazed 
Mrs. McLanehan, the moment the usual 
hubbub between the acts made it safe for 
her to speak. “Most like theyVe been 
nosin' about here in Teepleton till theyVe 
got hold of Maggie's case, and seein' me here 
in the aujence, they've give me this slap to 
my face, which Mrs. Flaherty herself couldn't 
have done worse. Much they knows about 
society, trailing them dirty gowns around. 
And no doubt them shinin' things ain't dia- 
monds at all, and all their hair false to boot. 
And them a-bowing to each other, and a-smil- 
ing and givin' a slap like that to a respectable 
196 


Maggie McLanehan 

woman like me ! K-s^Lym' fortune when any- 
body knows they mean wages T' 

“Whisht, woman !” said Mr. McLanehan. 
“There’s more than one uncle in the world. 
Most like they never heard of me. ’Tis 
some other body entirely they mean.” 

“No doubt you’re right, Dave,” retorted 
Mrs. McLanehan, bitterly. “And now will 
you tell me who it was Mrs. Flaherty meant 
when she was speakin’ of slatterns? And 
this to be called a show ! ” 

“ You’re the show yourself, I’m thinkin’,” 
returned Mr. McLanehan. “Your face is 
gettin’ that red and your eyes so mad. Didn’t 
you hear ’em say that the uncle was a duke 
and the aunt a duchess, and how they had to 
have the fortune because it takes money to 
run dukes? And I’d like to know what it 
don’t take money to run. I ain’t never seen 
nothin’ of the sort yet, for I’m told that even 
the poorhouse needs steady funds.” 

Mrs. McLanehan was silent. 

“ It’s the truth I’m tellin’ you,” continued 
Mr. McLanehan. “ I ain’t no duke, nor you 
ain’t no duchess, if we are after Maggie’s 
197 


Maggie McLanehan 


wages. It’s a queer world. I’m thinkin’, 
where the nieces has the money and the uncles 
and aunts has to be after it. But there goes 
up the curtain again. Let’s see if they gets 
it.” 

‘‘ I can’t abide to look at ’em,” said Mrs. 
McLanehan. ‘‘ The insultin’ things that they 
are. I can tell you beforehand that they won’t 
get her fortune. Else why would they give 
me that slap ? ” 

Mrs. McLanehan’s prediction was veri- 
fied. Very gloomily, at the close of the 
act, which was also the close of the entertain- 
ment, she rose from her seat, and followed 
her husband slowly through the crowd, com- 
pelled to hear on all hands the unflattering 
comments bestowed upon the heartless old 
duke and duchess, and the expressions of 
gratification at the triumph of the niece. 

“Well, Dave,” she said, when they had 
reached the street, “I needed livenin’ up, 
and I dressed me in the best I had, and this 
is what I’ve got, — to be insulted before the 
whole town. Only for Mrs. Flaherty never 
goin’ to entertainments. I’d blame her for 

198 


Maggie McLanehan 


puttin’ up the whole thing. How much was 
your ticket? ” 

‘‘A quarter.” 

“And a quarter too much, too. The 
next time you goes to an entertainment, find 
out what it is, and whether they’re out givin’ 
slams to respectable people.” 

It was a dark, cloudy night, though no 
rain was falling, and the two stumbled along, 
Mrs. McLanehan’s mincing gait forgotten 
for her usual stride, and her skirts held out 
of the mud with both hands. “ ’Tis hard to 
tell where a slap’ll be cornin’ from next,” she 
said. “ There’s a circus cornin’ to town. Bill 
was tellin’ me to-day. I’d like to go to it, 
only most like one of the trained dogs, or 
a monkey, or maybe the clown, would be 
gettin’ off something about Maggie to make 
the people stare.” 

“ And what would them beasts know about 
Maggie?” demanded Mr. McLanehan, im- 
patiently. “It’s Maggie, Maggie, till I’m 
sick of the girl’s name.” 

“And it’s easy to see how many friends 
I’ve got in this town,” went on Mrs. Mc- 
199 


Maggie McLanehan 

Lanehan, unheeding him. “Did you take 
notice how all in the opera house was on 
Maggie's side, and nobody on mine I might 
have know’d how we stood here when the 
marshal took Bill's pig. He wouldn't have 
done it if we'd been popular people." 

But now the house was reached, and Mrs. 
McLanehan's complainings were soon shut 
up in its dark and gloomy interior, to be no 
more heard that night. 


200 


CHAPTER XV 


A what sort of a show was it, ma?*' 
asked Bill the next morning. 

‘‘No show at all, as you might have known 
from your father pickin' it out to go to. I 
never seen no poorer one.” 

“ The show was good enough,” said Mr. 
McLanehan ; “only your mother’s gone that 
daft over gettin’ Maggie that there’s no 
suitin’ her with anything.” 

“ And get her I will,” retorted Mrs. Mc- 
Lanehan; “for the coorts will give her to 
you, and that’s all the same as if they give 
her to me.” 

Now Bill, from his life in the streets, was 
just enough familiar with stories of the 
“coorts” to make him think that none but 
offenders were ever taken before them. “I’ll 
just let that Sam Darcy know that Maggie 
ain’t so nice as he thinks she is,” be thought. 
“And I’m thinkin’ he’ll believe it, when he 


201 


Maggie McLanehan 

hears that pa’s goin’ to take her before the 
coorts.” 

It was a day or two, however, before he 
found his opportunity. Then a fine morn- 
ing dawned, and he spied Sam Darcy with his 
pug almost in front of Mrs. Cloonon’s house. 
He was quite in front of it when Bill reached 
him, and at once began conversation. 

Mrs. Cloonon’s door and windows were 
wide open, and she was dusting after a good 
sweeping, and the sidewalk being not more 
than twelve feet distant from the house, she 
could not avoid hearing every word, even if 
she had wished to do so. 

“Hello!” yelled Bill. 

“Hello ! ” replied Sam Darcy indifferently. 

“ Huh 1 ” exclaimed Bill. “You speak 
soft like, because it’s stuck up you are, over 
your dog. But I’ll be havin’ me a plug dog 
yet.” 

“ When your cousin earns it for you ? ” 
inquired Sam Darcy, with a sneer. 

“Yes, sir, and she’s cornin’, too. You said 
she was too nice to come, but you’ll find 
out when pa takes her before the coorts.” 


202 


Maggie McLanehan 


“What's he going to take her before the 
court for?" asked Sam, with sudden interest. 

“ 'Cause she's one of them minards^ and 
he's her next of kin, and he's goin' to get to 
be her guardian, and then she'll have to come; 
and ma's goin' to put her into the factory this 
winter, and she's goin' to earn twenty-four 
dollars a month, and then ma's goin' to have 
a silk dress. And she says, then let Mrs. 
Flaherty be callin' her a sloven, if she dares." 

“Pretty full of news you are this morn- 
ing, aren't you ? " remarked Sam. And then, 
whistling to his dog, he walked on, leaving 
Bill looking after him. 

Within the house Mrs. Cloonon had 
paused, dust-cloth in hand, and her heart 
full of righteous indignation. 

“And is that your game, Mrs. McLane- 
han, ma'am?" she said, witheringly. “ 'Tis 
lucky for some folks that you've got Bill for 
a son, and that your husband is that slow to 
move that he earns but a dollar a day, where 
he'd ought to be getting a dollar and a-half 
at the least. 'Tis the talk of everybody, how 
he's that slow handling boxes to the depot 

203 


Maggie McLanehan 

that the team he’s driving only makes one 
trip to all the other men’s two. And let one 
of the teams tire down, and the dray line 
says, ‘Let Dave drive ’em for a day, and 
they’ll be rested entirely.’ Only for lazi- 
ness he’d have took Maggie, I’m thinking, 
before now. But let him get one dollar, or 
ten, ’twould all be wasted in the hands of 
such as you, ma’am. A silk dress, indeed ! 
’Twill take more than that to get away with 
your rightful name of sloven. ’Tis seldom 
broom or dust-cloth is put to work in your 
house, if reports is true.” 

Then the dust-cloth went vigorously on 
in Mrs. Cloonon’s rooms, and soon all was 
spick and span. 

“ Whatever shall I do now ? ” she said to 
herself. “ I can’t sit down with news like 
this, and I might as well be sitting as tiring 
myself by walking around, too. How some 
people can be the kind of people they are 
beats me. But that’s the kind we have some- 
times to be dealing with, and it’s our duty to 
get ahead of ’em too.” 

It was now about ten o’clock. The late 


204 


Maggie McLanehan 


September sun was shining warm, and sud- 
denly Mrs. Cloonon, through the window, 
heard a loud and cheerful “ Whoa ! ” 

“*Tis Barney!” she exclaimed joyfully, 
even before she looked out. “’Tis Barney 
himself, sure!” 

Hastily she stepped to the door. ‘Hn 
with you, Barney Cloonon,” she cried, ‘^as 
soon as ever you can. You’re the one man 
in the world I want to see. I’ve something 
that must be talked over with you.” 

The horses being now tied to the post, 
Mr. Cloonon advanced with outstretched 
hand and a smiling face. ’Tis good goin’ 
where you’re wanted,” he said. 

‘‘And ’tis yourself is like to be wanted 
wherever you go,” returned Mrs. Cloonon, 
“ for you’re the great one to be talking things 
over with.” 

Mr. Cloonon smiled again, thinking his 
sister-in-law was troubled over some trifling 
worry about Mollie or the boys. He there- 
fore cheerfully took his part in a great ex- 
change of inquiries and answers as to the well 
being of the different members of the two 
205 


Maggie McLanehan 

families, in which nothing developed as amiss 
with his niece and nephews. And he was 
rather surprised to see his sister-in-law’s face 
suddenly grow sober as she said : “ Sit you 

down, Barney, and tell me how Maggie and 
the little Nora’s coming on.” 

“ Fine,” returned Mr. Cloonon, heartily. 
“ I told you maybe I’d not bring ’em back 
in two weeks, and I didn’t, neither. Mag- 
gie’s rent’s due to-day, and she give me the 
money to fetch to you and ask you to pay 
it for her. And here it is. ‘ And while 
you’re about it,’ says Margret, ^ you’d best 
make T om and Katie a present of enough to 
pay their rent. ’Tis long since you’ve made 
’em a present,’ she says. And here that is, 
too.” 

Mechanically, with a word or two of 
thanks, Mrs. Cloonon took both sums, and 
rising from her chair as mechanically, she 
put the whole away. ‘‘ ’Tis the best of men 
you are, Barney, as Margret and I both 
know,” she said. ‘‘And Tom’ll be made 
wonderful easy, for he’s a bit behind just 
now.” 


206 


Maggie McLanehan 


“ I was up some time ago to see you, and 
you was out visiting for the day,'' observed 
Mr. Cloonon, dismissing the subject of his 
gift. 

So Mrs. Flaherty was telling me." 

I come, then, to ask you what there was 
bothering Maggie. If it's any person, let 
him look out! " And his face darkened. 

‘‘ Why, then," cried Mrs. Cloonon, “ it's 
no wonder I should be thinking that you're 
the one man in the world I want to see." 

‘‘ Ah 1 " said Mr. Cloonon, and he fixed 
his eyes keenly on his sister-in-law's face. 
The childless man and his wife had grown 
very fond of Maggie and little Nora. 

Then Mrs. Cloonon began at the begin- 
ning and recounted everything. She unlocked 
the dividing door between the kitchen and 
Maggie's room, and taking her bro.ther-in- 
law in, showed him the sign in the window. 

“ That's what she got up out of her own 
head," said Mrs. Cloonon, with a dramatic 
gesture ; “ being anxious to earn all she could 
every way, and having no help toward it but 
a sign she saw in a dressmaker's window, 
207 


Maggie McLanehan 


which wasn’t at all like this, as any one might 
know that had ever seen the two of ’em, or 
any one that hadn’t seen ’em, for the matter 
of that. Why, even that stupid Dave Mc- 
Lanehan was saying he never seen such a sign, 
and it made him ashamed, so it did.” 

“ He’d be the lucky one if he hadn’t more 
than that to be ashamed of,” returned Mr. 
Cloonon, indignantly. 

“ Ah, but he has,” rejoined Mrs. Cloonon, 
‘‘as you shall hear. Would you believe it, 
that being set on by his wife, — a lazy body as 
ever lived, and never doing a stroke she can 
get out of, and always wanting fine things that 
the likes of her hasn’t no use for, silk dresses 
and such, — would you believe that she set 
that Dave on to be coming here and saying 
that he’s Maggie’s next of kin ? ” 

“ And ain’t he ? ” asked Mr. Cloonon. 

“To be sure he is; nobody denies that. 
But, do you see, he’s the kind of kin that 
come here after Maggie was gone to your 
house, trying to get into her room and turn 
things over, in the hope of finding anything 
that might suit him.” 


208 


Maggie McLanehan 

And did he do that ? ’’ demanded Mr. 
Cloonon. 

“He come to do it, as I was telling you, 
but he didn't do it. Wasn't it myself that 
told Maggie to lock her outside door and 
take the key in her pocket, when she went 
with you? And she minded me, too, like 
the good girl she is." 

Mr. Cloonon nodded his head approv- 
ingly. 

“And wasn't it myself that locked this 
door we just come in at and hid the key? 
Sure, and he didn't get in." 

“ It's just as well he didn't," responded 
Mr. Cloonon, in a displeased tone. 

“ I thought you'd say that, Barney," said 
Mrs. Cloonon. “And now you must know," 
she continued, as they returned to the kitch- 
en, “ that that Dave McLanehan has a son ; 
his name's Bill. And of all the imps ! Al- 
ways tormenting Maggie every time he gets 
the chance. Listen now ! That's him I 
hear yelling in the street. Put your head out 
of the window just, Barney, and take a look 
at him." 


209 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mr. Cloonon did so, and beheld an im- 
pudent-faced, weazened, ill-fed, and ill-clad 
boy of twelve, and was also able to judge 
further of his merits by the sound of several 
unmannerly screeches emitted from Bill's 
throat. 

“ Bill has one good point, though," re- 
sumed Mrs. Cloonon, when her brother-in- 
law had once more returned to his chair. 

‘‘That's past believing," declared Mr. 
Cloonon, emphatically, who could see no 
good in any boy that would torment Mag- 
gie. 

“ Ah, but wait till you hear what it is," 
said Mrs. Cloonon. “ 'Twould not be a 
good point in some. I'll own, but seeing 
Bill's a McLanehan, it's a mighty good point 
in him. That boy do be telling abroad 
everything that's going on at home, and 
'twas from his own mouth I heard how Dave 
McLanehan is going before the court to get 
himself appointed Maggie's guardian, and 
then Mrs. McLanehan's going to put Mag- 
gie into the factory and take all her wages 
besides." 


210 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mr. Cloonon now got up and began to 
pace the floor. For several minutes he did 
not speak, and his good-humored face grew 
stern. It’s my belief the woman’s not hu- 
man,” he said at last. “ I know nothing 
about the law, nor what Dave McLanehan 
can do, nor what he can’t do, but I’ll go 
to a lawyer and find out this very day ; and 
if the law says Maggie has to have a guar- 
dian, why, maybe I’ll get to be her guardian 
myself. I don’t see any reason why a smart 
girl like Maggie should have a guardian ; but 
maybe she needs one, too, to keep her 
out of the clutches of them Dave McLane- 
hans.” 

‘‘ I ain’t told you all of it,” said Mrs. 
Cloonon. 

“ And what more can there be ? ” de- 
manded Mr. Cloonon. 

There’s this. That Mrs. McLanehan 
won’t have little Nora; she says that Nora’s 
Maggie’s kin, and not Dave’s. So little Nora 
is to be turned adrift.” 

“ A sweet little innocent like that ! ” ex- 
claimed Mr. Cloonon. 


2II 


Maggie McLanehan 


said Mrs. Cloonon ; ‘‘and Tm 
thinking ’twould craze Maggie quite. The 
little Nora’s no china doll, do you mind; 
she’s got a most beautiful strong little will 
of her own. And having the strong will and 
then giving up to mind Maggie is what goes 
to a body’s heart. Sure, you don’t care so 
much for them children that’ll mind any- 
body; they’re too much like poodle dogs. 
But take a strong-willed child, now, and let 
’em mind you because they love you, and 
they’re the heart of your heart and the light 
of your eyes. And that’s what Nora is to 
Maggie. For she can ever be thinking, 
‘Nora’ll do what’s best, because I tell her.’ 
And now she’s to be turned adrift.” 

Mr. Cloonon had listened with a face that 
ever grew darker, as his sister-in-law unfolded 
to him Mrs. McLanehan’s scheme, which 
was, to his kind heart, an enormity. 

“ That’s enough ! ” he declared. “ I gets 
to be Maggie’s guardian and Nora’s too, if 
I possibly can. Their guardian just, do you 
mind, Katie. I’ll not adopt ’em, because 
that would be cutting Mollie and your boys 


212 


Maggie McLanehan 

out of part of their inheritance, which it's long 
been understood they should have." 

‘‘Thank you kindly," responded Mrs. 
Cloonon, gratefully. “ Maggie ain't out 
looking for an inheritance. All she wants 
is a chance for herself." 

“ And a chance for herself she shall have," 
declared Mr. Cloonon, as he went out to 
untie his team. 

“ Come back to dinner when you're done 
baiting the horses," said Mrs. Cloonon. 
“We won't have much; I've talked too 
long. But come back, and go after that to 
see the lawyer." 

“ I will," replied Mr. Cloonon, “ and do 
you keep your own counsel." 


213 


CHAPTER XVI 


TD Y the time the beefsteak party was well 
over, which was a full week after its 
occurrence, that time having elapsed before 
it was dismissed as a subject of daily con- 
versation, Mr. and Mrs. Barney Cloonon 
were entirely easy in their minds in regard 
to keeping Maggie and Nora contented. 
‘‘It’s my belief Maggie would always be 
contented with the farm,” remarked Mrs. 
Cloonon to her husband, “ only for that 
notion she’s got of it’s being best for her 
to get back to town and be earning some- 
thing.” 

“ I’ve noticed that,” replied Mr. Cloonon. 
“When she speaks of it you’d best begin 
to talk about something else. Turning the 
subject, I believe they calls it.” 

“ I’ve been doing that same,” said Mrs. 
Cloonon, “and I’ll keep on at it. Only, 
of course, the time will come when I’ll turn 


214 


Maggie McLanehan 

< 

it once too often. Maggie ain’t one that 
will always be put off.” 

The very day of her conversation with 
her husband Mrs. Cloonon had turned the 
subject,” and, to her delight, she had not 
been obliged to turn it since. The two were 
alone in the sitting-room, and Maggie had 
evidently begun to cast about in her mind 
how best to speak of returning to Teepleton. 
Mrs. Cloonon, not knowing what to say 
to stop the words she saw coming, had 
hastily asked, “And can you sew, Maggie 
dear? ” at the same time looking up from 
her darning very innocently. “ Not to make 
things,” replied Maggie, with a sigh. “ I can 
take stitches of course ; but I wish I could 
make things, for hiring comes high.” 

“True for you,” agreed Mrs. Cloonon. 
“They do. And since you wish to be learn- 
ing, here’s the fine chance for you. One 
of our neighbor girls, Sarah Perkham, has 
been and learned the trade, and she’s coming 
here to-morrow to do up my sewing for me. 
Sewing’s one of them things I never learned. 
I can make out to darn Barney’s socks and 
215 


Maggie McLanehan 


my own stockings, but that’s the end. Not 
that Barney cares ; he never grudges the 
money I pay out for anything. But I’d 
like to know how, for all that, only I’m 
too old now to begin. I’m told the highest 
in the land is great for fixing their own things 
now; and no wonder, seeing they must do 
something to pass the time. And there’s 
many dressmakers that quite chokes you 
in the neck, and makes you otherwise un- 
comfortable.” And judging by Maggie’s 
expression that the subject was now safely 
turned, she ceased speaking. 

“The rain lasts so long,” said Maggie, 
looking from the window. 

“ It does,” replied Mrs. Cloonon placidly. 
“’Tis what they call the equinoctial, and 
we’re getting the most liberal dose of it 
we’ve had in years. ’Tis Barney is well 
pleased with it, too.” 

“Will she come if it keeps on raining?” 
asked Maggie, anxiously. 

“To be sure she will; rain won’t hurt 
none of our neighbor girls.” 


216 


Maggie McLanehan 


“Will she be willing to show me? I’m 
fearing she won’t.” 

“Now, Maggie,” remonstrated Mrs. 
Cloonon, “you’re a great one for think- 
ing little of yourself. Of course she’ll show 
you. And why not? ” 

Then the talk shifted to other things; 
but Mrs. Cloonon could see that Maggie’s 
mind had by no means let go the, to her, 
enticing prospect of learning to make things. 

“ It’s a good thing Sarah’s coming,” 
thought Mrs. Cloonon. “ But for that, 
Maggie ’d think she had to get back to 
Teepleton right away.” 

An hour later Mrs. Cloonon remembered 
that Maggie had no material to learn upon. 
“Oh, Maggie!” she cried. “It’s a goose 
I am. What ever are you to be sewing on 
to-morrow? You ain’t got no cloth, have 
you? ” 

“ No, ma’am,” answered Maggie, respect- 
fully. 

“Then I’ll tell you what we’ll do. I’ve 
a dark red cashmere that Barney bought 
me two years ago, thinking I was still 
217 


Maggie McLanehan 


young, do you see. I can’t abear to wear 
it; it makes me feel foolish. But Barney 
can’t never seem to remember how old I 
am. ’Twould make a nice dress for little 
Nora, I’m thinking.” 

“ Indeed, and it would,” responded Mag- 
gie, her face alight. “ But I hate to take it.” 

‘‘And what for?” asked Mrs. Cloonon. 
“Say no more, Maggie. I’ll get it this min- 
ute, and you can put in the rest of the day 
ripping it up.” 

“ And that was the way you turned the 
subject, was it?” remarked Mr. Cloonon ap- 
provingly when his wife privately told him 
of what she had done. “’Twas a good 
scheme, and a smart one, Margret. I’m 
thinking ’twill take her a good week to 
learn, won’t it ? ” and he looked inquiringly 
at his wife. “I hope she’ll find the sewing 
a hard job, for the harder it is the longer 
she’ll stick at it. She’s the great one for 
sticking at hard jobs till a body don’t rightly 
know whether they’re hard or easy from look- 
ing at her. You can see she’s working, and 
218 


Maggie McLanehan 

you can see she likes it, and that’s what 
mixes you all up, for most folks goes to hard 
jobs like they was going to their own funerals, 
till you know the work’s hard to ’em just 
from looking at ’em before ever they strikes 
a lick. But I don’t like none of that sort 
around me. It’s Maggie’s sort I like, and 
that brings me to where I started, Margret. 
Keep right on with your turning of the sub- 
ject as long as ever you can.” 

The next day the little dress was cut out, 
while Nora stood by delighted. It would 
be by far the finest garment the child had 
ever had, and Maggie was not ashamed to 
say so. 

“And there,” thought Mr. Cloonon, who 
hovered about the door of the kitchen, which 
was open, “ is where she’s different again from 
others. For there’s many would take the 
very finest you had to offer, and then look 
as if they was quite used to such as that, if 
not better.” Then, with a satisfied smile, he 
went out to the barn leaving Maggie paying 
strict heed to Miss Perkham’s instructions. 

Eleven o’clock came, and cheerfully lay- 


219 


Maggie McLanehan 

ing aside her fascinating work, Maggie went 
out to prepare the dinner. 

Did you notice how she went, Sarah.?” 
asked Mrs. Cloonon, with an air of pride. 
‘‘ Pleasant over leaving the sewing, and happy 
to be cooking the dinner for me. Pm out 
of my own kitchen for pretty much every- 
thing now, for Maggie will have me to do 
little but rest while she’s here. My own 
child, if I had one, couldn’t be kinder.” 

As for Maggie, she was thinking, ‘‘Won’t 
I do my best to learn the sewing, though? 
Maybe I can get to make something for 
Mrs. Cloonon some day. Pd love to do it.” 

Every day for a week Maggie wrought 
faithfully on the little dress, slighting nothing, 
and compelling her eager fingers to forbear 
hurrying. And very often Mr. Cloonon took 
occasion to ask his wife how Maggie was 
prospering. 

“ Fine,” replied Mrs. Cloonon on the 
morning of the sixth day. “ Sarah says she’s 
learned as much in a week as one of them 
town girls in the shop would learn in a month. 
She says it’s the knack for it Maggie’s got.” 


220 


Maggie McLanehan 


“Knack for it!'* repeated Mr. Cloonon, 
with a slight discontent in his tone. “ 'Tis 
my belief she's got a knack for many things, 
a-working with all her might at whatever she 
can get to do. I wish she would be a bit 
slower about the sewing." And then he went 
out to the barn, took his team from the hands 
of the man, and drove away. For that sixth 
day was sunny, and the very day that Mr. 
Cloonon drove up to Teepleton to carry 
Maggie's rent money, and to consult his 
sister-in-law in regard to what was troubling 
her. 

Dinner had been over an hour at the 
farm, when a lively breeze blew in at one 
window of the pleasant sitting-room, which 
was also the parlor, and flirted a piece of one 
of Miss Perkham's patterns out at the other. 
“Sit still, Maggie," she said, kindly. “Jt 
will do me good to run out after it myself." 

But the bit of paper did not lodge directly 
outside the window. The breeze having 
got it so far, suddenly turned it's tack and 
sent the paper several feet north of the house 


221 


Maggie McLanehan ^ 

toward the calf pasture. “ My ! '' cried Miss 
Perkham, forgetting her pattern. ‘‘Maggie! 
Come quick 1 ” 

Up jumped Maggie and Mrs. Cloonon, 
but Miss Perkham, without waiting for them, 
ran on. A valuable Jersey calf, the only oc- 
cupant of the pasture, had got its head stuck 
fast in the smooth wire fence. 

Now the calf, though a great pet, was shy 
of strangers, and at Miss Perkham's ap- 
proach, it redoubled its struggles, increasing 
perceptibly its chances of breaking its neck. 

“ Oh 1 oh 1 ” exclaimed Mrs. Cloonon, 
as soon as she caught sight of it. “ *Tis 
Beauty, Barney’s pride, and the finest calf 
ever on the place. What ever will Barney 
say P ” 

With flying feet Maggie ran, and gently, 
without speaking, pushed Miss Perkham 
aside. Then she threw herself down by the 
calf and spoke to it, softly stroking its little 
nose. At once the calf ceased its struggles, 
for it loved Maggie, and, putting out its 
tongue, it tried to lick her hand. 

“Yes, Beauty, darling,” said Maggie, 


222 


Maggie McLanehan 

soothingly, “ ’tis Maggie will soon have you 
out, so she will/’ Then turning to Miss 
Perkham she said, “ Please get something to 
pull out the staple that holds the wire to the 
next post.” But Miss Perkham was not 
there. She was a farmer’s daughter, and she 
had anticipated Maggie’s request. And, in 
a few moments. Beauty was free. 

“ How ever did she come to be reaching 
through the fence when it’s good tender 
grass she’s got in the pasture ? ” asked Mrs. 
Cloonon. 

Maggie glanced about her. She knew 
Beauty’s fondness for chewing cloth, which 
she had often seen exemplified on Nora’s 
bonnet strings and her own aprons, and she 
at once spied a long streamer caught in a bush 
adjacent to the fence. 

‘‘ ’Twas Barney himself who must have 
dropped it there,” said Mrs. Cloonon. He 
had some strings like that yesterday, but 
what for I don’t know. Well, Maggie,” 
she continued, turning to the young girl, ‘‘if 
you was wanting to please Barney you’d look 
long before you got the chance you had to- 

223 


Maggie McLanehan 


day. There’s not a thing on the place he 
likes so well as Beauty.” 

Ma-a-a ! ” said Beauty. And then to 
prove that she was not seriously injured, she 
kicked up her little heels and scampered away. 

It was that afternoon when Maggie was 
preparing the supper that the interrupted 
conversation of Mrs. Cloonon and Miss 
Perkham concerning her was resumed. 

She seems to like the country,” ob- 
served Miss Perkham. 

‘‘ That she does, Sarah,” responded Mrs. 
Cloonon, heartily. ‘‘ She’s not like most of 
these town children that’s generally wanting 
to get back to their streets and what they 
can see in ’em. I can’t abide them streets 
myself, for, what with hardly ever being in 
’em. I’m that nervous down there where the 
stores are that when Barney goes driving the 
buggy along I’m fearing he’ll run into some- 
body, or failing that, somebody’ll run into 
us. Why, if you’ll believe me, in that very 
Teepleton we met one of them grocery de- 
livery boys riding along with his head over 
his shoulder and looking at something be- 

224 


Maggie McLanehan 


hind him. Only for Barney being the driver 
that he is, I can't say whether we mightn't 
have been killed." 

Miss Perkham smiled. She liked both 
country roads and town streets. 

“ Maggie ought to go to school," she 
observed, presently. 

‘^True for you," agreed Mrs. Cloonon. 
“ I said to her the other day, ‘ Maggie, it's 
schooling you ought to have, or some day, 
when you're an old woman like me, you'll 
be sorry. Of course I can see you've had 
some schooling,' I says, ‘ but what you want 
is more.' 

^ I know it,' she said, patient like ; ‘ but 
schooling is not for me. Nora is to have it, 
though. I'm planning this winter to put her 
into the kindergarten the cooking class ladies 
has started. 'Twill give me more time to 
work, and she'll be learning besides.' " 

Mrs. Cloonon paused, and then added, 
‘‘ There's a-many would think they'd take 
the schooling themselves and then, why, 
maybe Nora's turn would come. That is, 
if they want schooling, which some don't." 

235 


Maggie McLanehan 


There was a short silence, while Miss 
Perkham did some measuring and calcu- 
lating. Then she said, ‘‘ I could have got 
a dress for her out of your red cashmere. 
It would have taken planning, but I could 
have done it.” 

“ I’m not doubting it, Sarah, for you’re 
a clever girl,” returned Mrs. Cloonon cor- 
dially. “ But, do you see, it was my wish to 
please Maggie, and a dress for herself would 
have been nothing to a dress for Nora. 
I’m thinking, though, there’ll be a dress 
for Maggie at Christmas time, when once 
Barney hears about Beauty, and how she 
was caught this afternoon. You can’t pay 
her in money for a thing on account of her 
having a notion of loving all them that she 
thinks has been kind to her; and whoever 
else could pay her, she’d take not a cent 
from Barney and me.” 


226 


CHAPTER XVII 


T T was with his sister-in-law's best wishes 
^ for the success of his errand that Mr. 
Barney Cloonon left his brother's house very 
soon after dinner was over. He was a quiet, 
peaceable man, whose lot it had been to have 
had no experience with lawyers beyond the 
drawing of deeds; and, as he had always 
been purchaser and never seller of land, 
he had, so far, not been in a law office. 
It must be admitted that his opinion of the 
profession was poor. I want naught to do 
with 'em if I can help it," he would say 
to every man from whom he made a pur- 
chase of land. “You can get the deed made 
out and the abstract and fetch 'em to me, 
and then I'll get the deed recorded. For the 
recorder's office is not so bad, and the re- 
corder is a smart man, knowing, as he does, 
all them that owns land in the county and 
how they come by it. 'Tis one of the pleas- 


Maggie McLanehan 


ant things about buying land that the one 
selling it has to do all the work with the 
lawyers, and sure I ain’t the one to be sell- 
ing what I get anyway. What’s the use 
of buying land if you go and sell it as soon 
as you get used to calling it your own, and 
looking at it like it was a friend.^ ” 

So, to-day, as he walked along, he was 
all at sea in regard to a choice of attorneys. 
“ Sure, and there’s a lot of ’em, as you can 
tell by the TeepletonNews^' he said, ‘‘ and 
I suppose one of ’em’s as good as another. 
They’re all great for taking a hand in other 
people’s business, and saying what shall be 
done by other folks. I’ll just go to the 
first one I come to, and then I’ll not have 
to study over it, and after all, pick out the 
wrong one, if there is a wrong one.” 

Briskly he walked along, for he was an 
active man, and young for his years. 

Presently he came to Mrs. Martindale’s 
restaurant, and paused to look in at the win- 
dows. ‘^’Twas here that Maggie cooked 
the beefsteak,” he said. “ I’ll just step in 
and look around. The place may not suit 


Maggie McLanehan 

me at all, and if I’m to be Maggie’s guar- 
dian I’ll have to be looking into them places 
where she works.” 

A pile of oranges in one of the win- 
dows caught his eye. ‘‘ There’s no harm 
in oranges,” he said. ‘‘ I’ll buy some to take 
home. ’Twill give me a chance to look 
at Mrs. Martindale, and see if she’s one 
of the scolding sort. For I can’t just walk 
in and look about and not buy nothing. 
I’d not like to have Maggie scolded. She 
don’t deserve it. There’s them that does, 
of course, but not Maggie.”' 

Having taken in the arrangement of both 
windows while he thus communed with him- 
self, and having seen nothing to disapprove 
of, he now opened the screen door, walked 
in, and began to gaze curiously around. And 
so absorbed was he that he did not notice 
Mrs. Martindale, who stood ready to wait 
on him, while he stepped about nodding 
his head in approbation of what he saw. 
“The tables is clean,” he said to himself, 
“ and all looks neat.” 

“Is there anything I can do for you, sir, 


229 


Maggie McLanehan 


to-day? ” asked Mrs. Martindale, slightly 
raising her voice to attract his attention. 

“Oh! Ah!” said Mr. Cloonon, turning 
his eyes upon her. “You're Mrs. Martin- 
dale, ain't you? '' 

“ Yes.'' 

“ I thought so. I'll buy a dozen of them 
oranges in the window.'' 

Attentively he watched her put them into 
the paper bag, and he thought, “That's the 
woman! No doubt she can scold them that 
needs it, but she'll not scold Maggie. She's 
got sense, as I can see by the look of her.'' 

Then he paid for his oranges and walked 
out. “A tidy place,'' he said to himself, 
as he went on. “ I've no objections to Mag- 
gie working there, if she has the notion.'' 

A few doors further on he came to the 
stationer's. “And here's the place where 
Maggie got the stuff to make the sign out 
of,'' he said, pausing before the window. 
“ But I'll not go in. It's likely Maggie 
won't have any more dealings with them 
anyway, and if she does I can see to thinp^s 
then.'' 


230 


Maggie McLanehan 


A few steps farther he went, and chanc- 
ing to turn his head a trifle to the right, he 
saw a lawyer’s sign. 

“Here it is,” he said. “IVe come to 
it. Bad luck to them Dave McLanehans! 
Only for them I might have lived and 
died, and never seen the inside of a lawyer’s 
oflice.” 

Up the steep inside stairs he went. “I’ll 
just let him know first off that I ain’t making 
him no friendly call just to be passing the 
time,” he thought. And with that decision 
he stood in the tiny upper hall, which was no 
more than a square landing, upon which three 
doors opened from as many points of the 
compass. Carefully he read the lawyer’s card 
while he was recovering his breath from his 
climb. Then he turned the knob, walked in, 
and a young man rose to meet him. “ Tm 
sorry he ain’t older,” thought Mr. Cloonon, 
as he looked at him. “ But it’s too late now. 
Maybe he knows something.” 

The young man now stood evidently wait- 
ing expectantly for Mr. Cloonon to make his 
errand known. Seeing which Mr. Cloonon 

. 231 


Maggie McLanehan 


said very promptly, IVe come to see you 
on a matter of business, sir/’ 

The young man’s countenance brightened 
so very noticeably that Mr. Cloonon’s own 
face fell. He had come there declining to 
call as a friend upon the young lawyer, and 
here, instead of feeling abashed at being 
pushed off upon a business footing, the 
young man seemed delighted. 

“Well, well,” thought Mr. Cloonon. “ I 
didn’t think he’d take it that way.” 

“And what is your business?” gently 
urged the lawyer, who saw that for some 
reason Mr. Cloonon had for a moment been 
disconcerted. 

“Yes, to be sure,” replied Mr. Cloonon, 
recovering himself, and taking the chair 
offered him. “ ’Tis about getting to be 
made guardian I’ve come.” — “For,” he said 
to himself, “ I’ll not say anything about that 
Dave McLanehan. Let him be doin’ his 
own talkin’ about himself when he gets round 
to it.” 

“And who is to be your ward?” asked 
the lawyer. 

232 


Maggie McLanehan 

‘‘Word, is it?” repeated Mr. Cloonon. 
“ Tm my own word. It’s the truth I’m tell- 
ing you.” 

“ I see you do not understand me,” ex- 
plained the lawyer. “The person you are 
to be guardian of is called a ward.” 

“And is that it? Well, then, it’s Maggie 
McLanehan and Nora Garity.” 

“Orphans?” asked the lawyer, “or half- 
orphans?” 

“Whole orphans, to be sure, the both 
of ’em. If they’d either one of ’em father 
or a mother, what would they need of a 
guardian? ” 

The young lawyer stayed not to argue 
the question, but proceeded with his ques- 
tioning, which he saw was the only way to 
learn what was necessary. For Mr. Cloonon, 
talkative enough in other places, had imbibed 
the opinion that the more reserved one was 
with a lawyer the better. “ Them lawyers is 
too curious entirely,” he had said more than 
once. “ From all I’ve heard, they’ll listen 
to all a body tells ’em, and then find a way 
to make money out of it.” 

233 


Maggie McLanehan 

‘‘What property have they?” asked the 
lawyer. 

“ None at all/’ replied Mr. Cloonon, 
“barring a room full of furniture that be- 
longs to the little Nora. ’Tis Maggie that 
pays the rent of the room, you must under- 
stand, and she pays prompt.” 

The young lawyer looked puzzled. Mag- 
gie was evidently able to earn, and as there 
was no property, he could not see why his 
caller wished to be appointed guardian over 
the two girls. And he asked. 

“Well, between you and me,” replied 
Mr. Cloonon, growing confidential in spite 
of himself, “and naming no names, there’s 
them that would get hold of Maggie, and 
make her work like a horse, and take all her 
earnings, her being a minor, and then turn 
the little Nora adrift besides.” 

“ Ah ! ” observed the lawyer. “ Relatives, 
I suppose?” 

“Her uncle, bad luck to him!” replied 
Mr. Cloonon, with a scowl, “ and his wife, 
that’s setting him on, and that Bill, that’s 
tormenting Maggie every chance he gets.” 

234 


Maggie McLanehan 


“Then, as there is no property, I under- 
stand you wish to be made guardian of the 
persons of these children?'’ 

“ Sure, and you know better than I. All 
I want is to keep Maggie out of the clutches 
of them McLanehans, and give her a chance 
to have all she earns for herself. ’Tain’t as 
if them McLanehans was sick, you under- 
stand. They’re all of ’em well, and nothing 
ails ’em but laziness.” 

“And how old is Maggie?” inquired the 
lawyer. 

“ Fifteen strong,” was the prompt reply. 

“Fifteen strong,” repeated the lawyer. 
“What do you mean by that?” 

“ Why, what should I mean but that she’ll 
be sixteen before long. Sure and I know 
better than to call a girl or a woman sixteen 
or forty before they come to it. ’Twould 
never do at all.” 

“This Maggie is an intelligent girl, is 
she?” 

“ She is. She’s a wonderful worker, and 
she’s a knack at many things. ’Tis for that 
them McLanehans wants to get hold of her. 
235 


Maggie McLanehan 


Everybody says there never was a girl of her 
age could earn so much, for she's not spind- 
ling, do you mind, but well and hearty for 
all her hard work. I wasn't meaning to tell 
you aught about them McLanehans when I 
come in," went on Mr. Cloonon, his caution 
in the presence of a lawyer swept to the 
winds; ‘‘but, since I've said so much. I'll go 
further and say, sure, you must have seen 
that Bill." 

The lawyer smiled and shook his head. 

“ Maybe you don't know his name's Bill," 
insisted Mr. Cloonon. “ I didn't know it 
myself till to-day. But you sure have seen 
him. He's that weazened, dirty-looking boy 
always screeching in the streets, as I'm told. 
I'm hearing the marshal has threatened him 
more than once. For screeching ain't his 
only game. He'll be hitting folks that's 
walking along minding their own business 
with mud and the like of that. He takes 
snow for it in winter, but mud does him just 
as well other times of year. And then, too, 
he's making faces at the little children, till 
they cries with fear." 

236 


Maggie McLanehan 

Oh !” said the lawyer. ‘‘ I think I know 
the boy you mean.*’ 

‘‘To be sure you do. That’s Bill Mc- 
Lanehan, and it’s his father and mother that’s 
after Maggie. And happening to hear of it, 
I thought I’d get ahead of ’em just.” 

“ Is Maggie willing to go to her uncle? ” 

“ Is she willing?” repeated Mr. Cloonon 
in disgust. “ That she isn’t.” 

“Then that settles it unless trickery is 
resorted to,” declared the lawyer. He turned 
to his code to be positive. “ The law of 
this state says,” he continued, “ that when 
there is no natural guardian, and the court 
appoints a guardian, if the minor is over 
fourteen, and an intelligent person, she may 
choose her guardian, subject to the approval 
of the court.” 

“ There’s more sense in the law than I’d 
thought,” commented Mr. Cloonon. “ That 
bars out Dave McLanehan sure. For Mag- 
gie never would choose him. But since I’ve 
started on it. I’ll go home and ask Maggie 
to choose me, if for nothing else to let that 
Dave McLanehan know that if he tries tor- 


237 


Maggie McLanehan 


menting Maggie he'll have a man to deal 
with. And here's your money. I'm told 
by them that goes to lawyers that you must 
have your five dollars ready when you goes 
in at the door. And here it is." 

‘‘You have not yet told me your name," 
said the young lawyer as he took the money. 

“ Cloonon. Barney Cloonon. I'm a 
farmer, living nine miles south of Teeple- 
ton. Maggie's to our house visiting with 
the little Nora." 

Now the young lawyer had more than 
once heard of Mn Barney Cloonon; in fact, 
in an idle hour, he had even read the account 
of the beefsteak party in the Teepleton News. 
And he cordially shook hands with his first 
client. “ She will choose you, I don't doubt," 
he said. “ Maggie's the girl that cooked the 
beefsteak at your party, I suppose ? " 

Then Mr. Cloonon's face was illumined. 
“You've heard of the party, have you? 
You're a smart lawyer. Most like the best 
one I could have got. Now what shall I do 
when Maggie's said she'll choose me?" 

“ Come up with your wife and Maggie 
238 


Maggie McLanehan 

and Nora. Court is not in session, but I 
can have you appointed guardian by the 
clerk all right.” 

ril do it,” said Mr. Barney Cloonon, 
with decision ; “ and keep your own counsel 
just. I don’t want them Dave McLane- 
hans to know nothing about it. Let ’em 
think they’re going to put Maggie into the 
factory this winter, and take all her wages, 
and turn the little Nora adrift if they wants 
to, for the thoughts of it will be as far as they’ll 
get.” And honest Barney Cloonon nodded 
his head emphatically at the young lawyer, 
and going out at the door, went down the 
stairs and away. 


239 


CHAPTER XVIII 


13 Y the time Mr. Barney Cloonon emerged 
from the narrow stairway upon the street 
his resentment against the McLanehans was 
resolutely banished from his mind. Ell 
think naught about 'em till it’s necessary,” 
he said. And then a smile came over his 
face and he held his head high. 

“ I’m the same as guardian to two nice 
girls,” he said. ‘‘And being guardian is next 
to being step-father, and being step-father is 
next to being own father, and there I am. 
’Twill be great news for Margret. She’ll be 
thinking she must have a hand in saying 
what Maggie shall do, and she shall, too. 
And now let them McLanehans mind their 
own business. Maggie and Nora’s mine.” 

Critically he looked about him as he went 
to the feeding sheds after his team, the bag 
of oranges clutched firmly in one big hand. 
“Teepleton’s not bad if a body must have a 

240 


Maggie McLanehan 

town, ’ he said ; and there’s one thing to be 
said for towns, too — there’s more chances for 
girls to earn money in ’em than there is in the 
country. But we’ll have Maggie and Nora 
out often for a visit. Margret and me must 
get Maggie out of that notion that she’s got 
to be earning something every minute. For 
while a little more of that notion is what some 
folks needs, Maggie’s not one of ’em.” 

As he paid for his team’s dinner and 
climbed into the wagon he thought of his 
brother’s wife. “ I’ve a good notion to drive 
round and tell her,” he said. “ She’s got 
the right to know, and ’twill ease her mind, 
too. 

When Mr. Cloonon had a “good no- 
tion ” to do anything it was the same as done, 
and the horses, at a brisk trot, soon brought 
him again to his brother’s home. Once more 
he climbed out and tied them to the post, 
and' then, advancing to the door, he knocked 
loudly. 

“ Well, Barney Cloonon ! ” exclaimed his 
sister-in-law, appearing at his summons. 

“You may well say it, Katie,” responded 

241 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mr. Cloonon. I’ve done it, or almost done 
it, which is the same thing. I’m to be the 
guardian as soon as I get Maggie to choose 
me and we comes up to the clerk of the 
court with the lawyer to settle the business 
for us.” 

I knew you’d do it, Barney ! ” cried the 
unselfish sister-in-law. “ You’re the man ! ” 
Mr. Cloonon smiled. He was quite hu- 
man enough to like to be appreciated. And 
though he was not one to be continually 
invoicing his own good deeds, he knew, in a 
general way, that he was doing the best he 
could. So now he stepped in and took a 
chair, while his sister-in-law, well pleased, sat 
down opposite to him. 

“We didn’t need to go worrying so much 
about that Dave McLanehan, Katie, if we’d 
only known,” he began. “ I’m thinking 
most of the rascals in the world causes a lot 
of worry that could be done away with if 
folks would only stop worrying and step out 
to deal with ’em and settle ’em. That’s 
cheaper than worrying in the long run, as 
well as being more comfortable to a body’s 

242 


Maggie McLanehan 


feelings. For worrying has made many a 
person ill-tempered for life, as perhaps youVe 
noticed, Katie.*' 

“ I have," replied Mrs. Cloonon, com- 
placently. 

“Well, do you see," resumed Mr. 
Cloonon, “ Maggie being over fourteen and 
havin' lots of good sense — being intelligent, I 
think the lawyer called it, with one of his 
big lawyer words — why she has the chance of 
choosing her guardian, and so wasn't in no 
danger but that of some sort of trickery or 
other. And let 'em try that once, and they'll 
soon find out what Barney Cloonon thinks 
of tricks." 

“Ah, but Barney you mus’n’t be hasty 
just because you’re strong,” replied his sis- 
ter-in-law. “ Sure the best way to do is to 
head off their tricks, and tricks there'll be, 
and plenty, where Mrs. Dave McLanehan is 
concerned. For tricks comes handy to them 
that's too lazy to earn and wants what other 
folks has got. They’ll tell the court any- 
thing about Maggie that suits 'em to gain 
their point. And so I'm thinking you'd 
243 


Maggie McLanehan 


best not rest too easy but settle all as soon 
as you can. When once you’re the guardian, 
their tricks will be as useless to ’em as ever 
they found soap and water and a dust-cloth. 
And them they know no more of than the 
heathen. I’m hoping that Bill won’t be tast- 
ing a cake of soap some day, and all on 
account of not knowing what it is, and mis- 
taking it for something to eat.” 

By this last digression did Mrs. Cloonon 
seek to conceal the fact that she had just 
been giving her brother-in-law some advice. 
“For sure,” she thought, “the best of men 
is apt to hate advice, and even the boys is 
strong set against it. ’Tis the men would 
ever be going alone, and sometimes they 
get a tumble, too, the same as any other 
baby.” 

Mr. Cloonon, however, had evidently 
taken the advice, such as it was, in good 
part. For presently, to his sister-in-law’s 
satisfaction, he said, “ I’ll see to it to-morrow.” 

“ That’s the day ! ” cried Mrs. Cloonon. 
“ When you’re going to do anything always 
get it as close to to-day as you can.” 


Maggie McLanehan 

“True for you/' assented Mr. Cloonon, 
cordially. 

“ And now you'll all of you be here for 
your dinner, of course. I'll be glad to see 
Margret. I ain't seen her this long 
while." 

Mr. Cloonon smiled but said nothing. 
He was wrestling with the details of a new 
plan that had suddenly popped into his mind. 
“ Tom’s home to dinner every day, ain't he ? " 
he finally asked. 

“Yes," answered Mrs. Cloonon, won- 
deringly. 

“Then I've got it !" cried Mr. Barney 
Cloonon. “We'll all go to Mrs. Martin- 
dale's for dinner, and we'll have the best 
she's got. You, and Tom, and Mollie, and 
the boys, and Margret, and Maggie, and 
Nora, and me. / What do you say to it? " 

“ I say it's a fine plan," was the pleased 
response, “ and just like you to be thinking 
of it. I never was to Mrs. Martindale's 
only to buy something now and then. I 
never eat there." 

“No more did I," returned Mr. Cloonon. 


245 


Maggie McLanehan 


But now we’ll do it. And before I forget 
it, I must be going.” 

With that he was up and off. 

That was a very pleasant nine-mile drive 
to Mr. Barney Cloonon, although he saw 
nothing along the way. He sat up unusually 
straight on the high seat of the wagon as 
scene after scene flitted before his mental 
vision. First he pictured Margret’s pleasure 
when she should hear his news. Then Mag- 
gie’s relief to be rid forever from persecution 
at the hands of her uncle’s family. Then 
he saw himself, his wife, the lawyer, Maggie, 
and Nora, in the clerk’s office, and then there 
came before him the dinner party to be at 
Mrs. Martindale’s. But never once did 
the generous man see even so much as a 
glimpse of what all this was to cost him. 

“ When a body gets to be a guardian,” 
he thought, “ I wonder if there’s anything 
to it about sickness and health, and better and 
worse, like there is when you’re getting mar- 
ried? If there is, Tm ready for it. Only 
let anything happen to Maggie and Nora, and 
they’ll find Margret and me right by ’em. 

246 


Maggie McLanehan 


Other times, of course, it’s better to let ’em 
go alone. ’Twouldn’t be fair otherwise to 
Mollie and the boys.” 

And now along a stretch of road, and 
around corners, and on again, after nine miles 
of such visions, he came to his own home, 
and saw little Nora playing in the door- 
yard. 

‘‘Come here, darlint?”he called, “and 
see what Uncle Barney’s got for you.” 

Eagerly the child obeyed, and then trotted 
back to show Aunt Margret and Maggie the 
big orange she carried. She could not show 
Miss Perkham, who, having finished her 
work, had just gone home. 

There was joy in the frame farm-house 
that night, for Maggie, upon being asked 
to do so, made haste to choose Mr. Cloonon 
as her guardian, while Mrs. Cloonon looked 
at her with eyes that already appropriated 
the girl to herself. 

“Then,” announced Mr. Cloonon, “we 
goes to town early to-morrow morning to 
settle the business. And then, what do you 
think we’re going to do, Margret? ” 


Maggie McLanehan 

“ Most like we'll go to Katie's to dinner 
like we always does," was the placid answer. 

“ No, ma'am," said Mr. Cloonon, loudly. 
“ You've guessed wrong, ma'am. Tom's folks 
and us are going to Mrs. Martindale's, where 
we'll have our dinner off the best she's got. 
I never got to be guardian before, and I 
never expect to be again, so let's make the 
most of it." 

Hi * ❖ Hs ❖ sJJ 

The wonderful day dawned as fair as its 
predecessor, not only at the farm but in the 
town of Teepleton, where its fairness early 
made itself apparent to Mrs. Dave Mc- 
Lanehan. 

“ You'll have to take a day off your work, 
Dave," she said, “and go down and get 
Maggie back. She's been down to them 
Barney Cloonons 'most a month now, and 
doin' nothin' that long will make her tur- 
rible lazy. I want to be gettin' her into 
the factory as soon as I can, for there's 
a green silk down to Holton's I'm dyin' 
for. Only for their refusin' me trust I'd 
buy it now before it's gone, and pay for 

248 


Maggie McLanehan 


it when it come handy. But seein’ Tve 
got to pay for it first, and have the good 
of it afterward, the sooner Maggie gets to 
work again the better. 'Twill be, ‘ Mrs. 
McLanehan, how do you do, ma’am?' I'm 
thinkin', when once I get the silk on. For 
there's ever a good word for them that 
dresses fine. I’ve noticed.” 

“Woman, hear to me now!” said Mr. 
McLanehan, who had got up sulky. “ The 
mud’s not dried up. 'Tis like the women 
to be casting their eye up at the sky, and 
sayin' it's a fine day, without ever noticin' 
what their feet's got to be wadin’ through. 
I told you I might be goin’ when the 
mud dried up, d’ye mind? I said naught 
about one of your fine days.” 

“That's neither here nor there,” replied 
Mrs. McLanehan, with such determination 
that her husband instinctively closed his 
mouth without another word. “ It don't 
sinify what you said. I say you're goin' 
to-day. The sun is shinin’ and you’re goin'. 
I'll have your breakfast ready in a jifiy, and 
then you goes.” 

249 


Maggie McLanehan 


T^he whole family were speedily around 
the breakfast table, and in possession of their 
mother’s program for the day. 

“Will Maggie be walkin’ back with pa? ” 
asked Bill, interestedly. ^ 

“She will,” answered Mrs. McLanehan, 
looking half threateningly at her husband. 
“ I’ve had enough fooling.” 

“Where’s Nora goin’?” asked Bill. He 
was a privileged character, and said his say 
where others of the family did not dare 
to speak. 

“ Let them Barney Cloonons keep Nora,” 
said Mrs. McLanehan, with a black look. 
“ She can be visitin’ ’em awhile longer. And 
now, Dave, your breakfast’s done; what are 
you sittin’ still for? You won’t get there 
no sooner for sittin’ here. Bill will go round 
and tell ’em you’re not cornin’ to work 
to-day. You ain’t no slave to be tied to 
work till you don’t dare stir from it, like 
that Tom Cloonon up the street.” 

Sulkily Mr. McLanehan took his hat 
and set out. 

He had no fondness for a nine-mile tramp 

250 



“ ril walk on the edges of the fields/’ he growled. 


251 










\ 


Maggie McLanehan 


over a muddy country road. He much pre- 
ferred loading and unloading boxes at his 
leisure, and having the dollar therefor in 
his pocket at night. “ I’ll walk on the 
edges of the fields, and take all the short 
cuts I can,” he growled; nor I won’t 
hurry, neither.” 

It was the carrying out of this decision 
that caused him to miss the sight of the 
Barney Cloonon carriage, and its happy occu- 
pants on their way to town. They had taken 
the carriage in spite of the condition of the 
roads. “Who cares for the mud?” said 
Mr. Barney Cloonon. “’Twill wash off. 
This is a great day, and we’ll make the 
most of it. The farm wagon will do for 
common days.” 

Mr. McLanehan had left home at seven. 
It was almost twelve when, tired and hungry, 
he reached the Barney Cloonon place. In 
succession he knocked at every outside door 
and peered into every window on the 
lower floor. He even went to the barn, 
where he discovered two empty stalls, and 
was puzzling himself over the presence of 


Maggie McLanehan 


the wagon when one of the men arrived to do 
the noon feeding. 

But Mr. Cloonon’s man, not liking the 
appearance of this prowling stranger, was 
rather short with him, so that Mr. McLane- 
han presently retired, not much the wiser. 

They’re gone, sure,” he said, “ and 
where I don’t know. And here I am losin’ 
my day’s wages, nothin’ to eat for my din- 
ner, and nothin’ to show for it all.” 


252 


CHAPTER XIX 


X ^ 7HILE those at the farm and the mem- 
^ ^ bers of the Dave McLanehan family 
were so early astir on this, to them, momen- 
tous morning, it must not be supposed that 
Mrs. Tom Cloonon was a whit behind in 
activity. For, to her and her family, dining 
at Mrs. Martindale’s was a great event. 

‘M’m told,” she said at breakfast, “that 
some of the best in the town takes their 
dinners there when, for any reason, it's not 
convenient to take 'em at home. So, Mollie, 
you and the boys must do your best to be a 
credit to your Uncle Barney, while your father 
and I'll just do as well as we can, knowing that 
Barney and Margret will overlook whatever's 
lacking in us. Not that they wouldn't do it 
for you, too, but when you're asking your 
friends to overlook things in your favor, it's 
best not to ask 'em to overlook more than 
is necessary.'' 


253 


Maggie McLanehan 

Pretty Mollie smiled consciously. In her 
opinion, if her mirror was to be believed, 
Uncle Barney and Aunt Margret would have 
no need to excuse anything in her; and as for 
the restaurant, she felt quite at her ease con- 
cerning it, for she had eaten in much larger 
places when she had gone on that wonderful 
excursion. 

And the boys, having the remembrance 
of new neckties for a support, felt not much 
fear on their own account. 

The breakfast was over and done when 
Mrs. Cloonon's busy mind, canvassing be- 
forehand the occurrences of the day, stumbled 
across the fact that, so far as she knew, Mr. 
Barney Cloonon had given no order for his 
great dinner. 

Sure,'* she cried, “ next to my own Tom, 
Barney's the best man in the world, but the 
best of men will sometimes make mistakes 
and overlook things quite, in a way that 
often spoils everything." 

Hastily she dropped on the table the 
dish she was wiping and laid the tea-towel 


254 


Maggie McLanehan 


on it while she ran for her hat, glancing at 
the clock as she did so. 

“ Five minutes yet before seven,” she 
said, “ but I can be there by seven, and I 
must be, too, for ’tis the way of the men to 
think a woman can feed extra mouths without 
any notice at all, and Fll be bound Barney’s 
forgot to say a word to Mrs. Martindale. 
But I’ll not speak to her about it at first,” 
she continued, as she hurried along. ‘‘ I’ll 
watch her just. If she says ‘And it’s a fine 
day for your spread, Mrs. Cloonon,’ I’ll just 
buy a nickel’s worth of something and come 
on home again, for I’ve no wish to be med- 
dling with Barney’s business if he’s attended 
to it himself. But if she says naught about 
it and only asks, ‘And what can I do for 
you, Mrs. Cloonon?’ then I’ll know Bar- 
ney’s forgot it, and it’ll be a good thing I re- 
membered.” 

And now she had come to the restaurant. 
Hastily she opened the door and stepped 
in, to find Mrs. Martindale busy with a girl 
who had come in to buy a loaf of bread for 
breakfast. But in a moment she was at 


255 


Maggie McLanehan 


liberty, and asked Mrs. Cloonon what she 
could do for her. 

Mrs. Cloonon almost gasped as she felt 
all at once the responsibility resting upon 
her. ‘‘ Sure and Barney's never thought 
about it at all," she told herself. Then 
aloud she said, “ Mrs. Martindale, ma’am, I 
know something I’m thinking you ought to 
know and don’t.’’ 

“ Very well,’’ answered Mrs. Martindale, 
calmly. What is it? ’’ 

“ Why, you must know, ma’am, and please 
keep your own counsel and tell never a soul, 
ma’am, for that’s what Barney would wish, 
on account of them Dave McLanehans and 
their tormenting of Maggie. There’s no 
telling what they might do if they was to 
find out before the business is all settled at 
the clerk’s office.’’ 

Then Mrs. Martindale opened her eyes 
at this, to her, unintelligible preface to some- 
thing which Mrs. Cloonon evidently regard- 
ed as of importance. 

“ ’Tis Barney Cloonon, my husband’s 
brother, ma’am,’’ continued Mrs. Cloonon, 
256 


Maggie McLanehan 


“ is coming up to-day to get to be made 
Maggie’s guardian at the clerk’s office. For 
that Mrs. Dave McLanehan was thinking 
to get Dave made guardian, so she can put 
Maggie in the factory and take all her wages, 
her being a minor. Barney, he wouldn’t 
stand by and see it done, and so he’s got 
ahead of ’em, and is to be made guardian 
this morning.” 

Mrs. Martindale nodded and looked in- 
terested, as she always did in whatever con- 
cerned Maggie. Moreover, she knew all 
about the Dave McLanehan family, and 
regarded them with small favor. 

“ And when all’s done at the clerk’s 
office,” Mrs. Cloonon went on, Barney’s 
coming here for his dinner to sort of cele- 
brate. That’s what I thought you ought 
to know, and it’s clear Barney’s forgot to 
say a word to you about it. There’ll be 
Barney and Margret, that’s his wife, and 
Maggie and Nora and my husband, and 
me and Mollie and the two boys. And Bar- 
ney he says to me, ‘We’ll have the best 
Mrs. Martindale’s got,’ and then off he 
257 


Maggie McLanehan 


drives home again, and never thinks about 
letting you know. So I come to tell you. 
Men will forget them things, ma’am, even 
the best of ’em, and Barney’d be sore dis- 
appointed if you wasn’t ready for him with 
a plenty of everything.” 

“ How much does he want his dinner 
to cost?” asked Mrs. Martindale, reflec- 
tively. 

‘‘ Sure, and I don’t know,” replied Mrs. 
Cloonon. “ Only I know he has plenty 
of money, and ain’t likely to be standing 
on expense. ’Tis not his way, ma’am. He’s 
a farmer living south of town.” 

Mrs. Martindale reflected again. Then 
she said, “ I remember now to have heard 
about him. He shall not be disappointed 
in his dinner, and I thank you for letting 
me know.” 

‘‘’Tis nothing at all, ma’am,” returned 
Mrs. Cloonon, “ being only something I 
could do for you as well as not.” Then, 
her errand done, she turned to go, and had 
almost reached the door when Mrs. Martin- 
dale called to her. “Wait a minute, please. 
258 


Maggie McLanehan 

Would chicken pot pie suit him, do you 
think? ” 

“Never a bit,’' cried Mrs. Cloonon. 
“ He gets so much chicken to home that 
he*s tired of it entirely.” 

“Oh!” said Mrs. Martindale. “Well, 
ril have to get something else then.” And 
she hurried away, leaving Mrs. Cloonon 
to depart at her leisure, which she did in 
a fine humor with herself and all the world. 

“’Twas well I come,” she said. “I can 
tell by the way she hurried off she’s noth- 
ing on hand to suit Barney.” 

She had gone but a few steps when she 
saw Dave McLanehan part company from 
a man with whom he had stopped to gossip, 
and sulkily proceed on his mission to Mr. 
Barney Cloonon’s farm. 

“ I’m glad I didn’t meet him face to face,” 
she said. And she smiled. “ But he’s got 
the sour look on him, and it’s good and 
late he is getting off to his work. His 
boxes down to the depot will be tired 
of waiting for him. I’m thinking, or if they 
won’t, the ones that owns ’em will. I’m 


259 


Maggie McLanehan 


told some folks was in from the country 
one day waiting for some goods to take 
out that they’d ordered; and sure, waiting’s 
the word for it. Dave was that slow getting 
them things up to the hardware store that 
they was an hour and a half behind time 
getting started for home. Most like they 
blamed the railroad company, or the man 
that sold the goods, but nobody need be 
saying that they waited all that time with- 
out blaming somebody. Well, Dave will 
be doing some waiting now himself. I’m 
thinking. It’ll be a good bit of a wait he’ll 
have before he gets hold of Maggie.” 

Her own home being now at hand, she 
dismissed Mr. Dave McLanehan from her 
thoughts. “Now, then,” she said, as her 
mind reverted to Mrs. Martindale, “I’ve 
done Barney a good turn. I’ll just help 
Mollie with her fixings for the dinner.” 

Meanwhile down at the farm Mr. Barney 
Cloonon and his party were starting away, 
the only occurrence to cloud anybody’s pleas- 
ure being Maggie’s insistence on carrying back 
all her baggage in order to remain in town. 

260 


Maggie McLanehan 


I must get to work,” she said earnestly. 

Winter’s coming. And I can work with 
a good heart now, knowing IVe got you 
and Uncle Barney to stand by me.” 

‘‘ But you’ll be often down to visit us, 
won’t you? ” asked Mrs. Cloonon. 

“ As often as I can I will, and thank you 
kindly for asking me. Aunt Margret.” 

Upon receiving this promise Mrs. Barney 
Cloonon removed a reluctant hand from the 
big bundle, and permitted it to be stowed 
away in the carriage. 

And what will you be going at, do you 
think?” asked Mr. Cloonon as they drove 
along. 

“First, I’ll cook steak for Mrs. Martin- 
dale what time she wants me, and for the rest, 
I must do whatever I can,” was the answer. 

Mr. Cloonon nodded his head in a satisfied 
way. “You’ve got the right of it,” he said. 
“ First to be sticking to what you know you 
can do, and then to get whatever else you can 
is a receipt that some of these big business 
men that’s always telling the boys what to do 
in the papers might be willing to sign their 
261 


Maggie McLanehan 


names to; after reading it over, of course, 
first. Why, weVe got a boy down our way 
was telling me about it, and he’s got all them 
receipts cut out, and he don’t know just which 
one to follow, neither, for they’re all of ’em 
a little different, like the men that made ’em. 
How he’ll turn out I can’t say, for it’s not 
the best sign for a boy to be so eager to 
know just how some rich man made his 
money. There’s some very great men has 
walked pigeon-toed no doubt. And that’s 
not saying that any boy need to do other 
than to walk straight ahead on his own two 
feet that the Lord gave him. Hitch Work 
and Sense up together, and you’ve got a 
team that matches and is going to win the 
race against all comers every time.” 

Then Nora looked up into his face. 
‘‘You’re playing preach, ain’t you. Uncle 
Barney?” she said, smilingly. Nora loved 
to play. 

“Not a bit of it, darlint,” answered Mr. 
Cloonon. “ I was meaning every word I 
said. If I’d been playing preach I’d have 
been saying anything a’most to be drawin’ 

262 


Maggie McLanehan 


the crowd. That’s what my neighbors tells 
me is quite often done now. But I’ll just 
say, Maggie, stick to Mrs. Martindale all 
you can. She’s a good woman. I was in 
to look at her, and I think you can depend 
on her. I’d like to know, of course, when 
you take up with anybody else, for it’s my 
business now to see that whoever hires you 
does well by you. But don’t you go near that 
factory. I know naught about the place, nor 
how it’s run; but Mrs. Dave McLanehan 
wanted to put you there, and whatever she 
planned is bound to be wrong.” 

“ I won’t, then. Uncle Barney,” promised 
Maggie, “ if only ’tis to please you by stay- 
ing away.” 

“That’s it, that’s it,” said Mr. Cloonon. 
“You’re a good girl, Maggie. The factory 
is likely all right, or it wouldn’t be allowed 
in Teepleton. I’ve no doubt they pays up 
all right, and don’t ask no more than is rea- 
sonable of their help. But I’m down on it 
on account of Mrs. McLanehan wanting to 
put you there, and only for your promising 
not to go I should have seen no good in it 

263 


Maggie McLanehan 


at all. Now that I’ve your promise, I’ve no 
doubt it’s a very good place. Ain’t that your 
opinion, Margret?” 

‘‘ Why, Barney, I know naught about it,” 
replied Mrs. Cloonon. 

‘‘ And that’s not a bad answer, neither,” 
responded Mr. Cloonon, who was determined 
to be pleased with everybody and everything 
that morning excepting the Dave McLane- 
hans and their doings. ‘‘ There’s some 
women,” he continued, that knows too 
much about everything entirely, and Mrs. 
Dave McLanehan’s one of ’em. It’s a won- 
der, in such a hurry as Katie says she is to be 
laying hands on you, Maggie, that she hadn’t 
started Dave down our way to get you before 
this.” He paused and laughed heartily. I 
wish he’d come to-day,” he said. “He’d 
have his coming for his pay, and he wouldn’t 
buy no silk dress with it neither. Silk dress ! ” 
he ejaculated. “ Have you got a silk dress, 
Margret ? ” 

“You know I ain’t, Barney.” 

“ Of course I know it. Mrs. Dave Mc- 
Lanehan ain’t got one, neither.” 

264 


Maggie McLanehan 


The young horses sped on at a good 
gait, and by half-past eight Mr. Cloonon was 
driving in at the entrance to the feed sheds. 
‘‘ There’s a little parlor here for the ladies,” 
he said, as he helped his wife and Maggie to 
alight and then lifted little Nora out care- 
fully. ‘‘ Go in while I hand over the team.” 

Obediently they did so, and in a few mo- 
ments were admonished that it was time to 
go on, by Mr. Barney Cloonon appearing in 
the doorway with Maggie’s big bundle in his 
arms. 

“You’d ought to have been driving 
round to Katie’s with that,” observed his 
wife. 

“And what for?” asked Mr. Cloonon. 
“’Tain’t heavy — that is, ’tain’t heavy for 
me.” 

“ Sarah Perkham was telling me town 
folks didn’t mostly go packing round big 
bundles with ’em in the streets.” 

Mr. Cloonon laughed. “You’re getting 
proud, Margret,” he said. “ Most like that’s 
some notion got up by them that’s too poor 
to have any bundles to carry, thinking if 
265 


Maggie McLanehan 


nobody carries bundles they can hold up 
their heads with the best.” 

“ That may be it, as you say,” returned 
Mrs. Cloonon, amiably. ‘‘ If you want to 
carry it, Tm willing.” 

The little party were now in the street, 
Mr. Cloonon with the big bundle proudly 
marching ahead, and Mrs. Cloonon and 
Maggie, with little Nora between them, fol- 
lowing on behind. 


266 


CHAPTER XX 


A SILENCE fell upon the little party 
as they walked along, broken only by 
Mr. Cloonon when they came to Mrs. 
Martindale’s restaurant. “ That’s the place, 
Margret,” he said, turning his head and 
nodding toward it. A tidy-looking place, 
too. ’Tis Maggie has seen the inside as 
well as the outside of it more than once,” 
and he smiled kindly upon the young 
girl. 

It happened to be a day when many peo- 
ple were coming to town, and already there 
were a few teams at the rack about the court- 
house square. For there were many of the 
country people who patronized the sheds only 
when the racks were full. And from the 
restaurant on, Mr. Cloonon’s progress was 
slow, owing to the fact that every few steps 
he was greeted cordially by some one he 
knew, or else he recognized some team at 
267 


Maggie McLanehan 

the rack and paused to take a keener glance 
at it. 

“That’s the way with towns,” he said. 
“ Folks are thick in ’em. But it’s nothing 
at all here to what it was on the excursion. 
There it was push and shove all the time, 
' with somebody’s luggage banging against you 
at every step, and everybody thinking how to 
get where he was going before somebody else 
got ahead of him. Barring them, of course, 
that didn’t know where they was going, and so 
stood gawping in everybody’s way. There’s 
always a few of that sort everywhere, and an 
aggravation they are, too.” 

Mr. Barney Cloonon himself, by one un- 
acquainted with him, might have been mis- 
taken for one who did not know where he 
was going, as he walked sidling along carrying 
the big bundle and talking to his wife and 
Maggie and Nora, who still followed behind 
him ; for his large face was so full of happi- 
ness that he certainly looked as if one place 
were quite as good as another to him. And 
now his feet stood still while he surveyed the 
street up and down. 


268 


Maggie McLanehan 


‘‘ Sure, the town’s not complete,” he said. 
‘‘ I don’t see nothing of Bill ; and a great loss 
he is, too.” 

And I wouldn’t bother about Bill now, 
Barney,” observed his wife. ‘Mf he ain’t here, 
he’s somewhere else. Leave him alone.” 

“ Sure, and I will,” said Mr. Cloonon. 
“ But let him make no more of his faces at 
Nora.” 

That was Bill’s crowning offense in Mr. 
Cloonon’s eyes. And only the evening be- 
fore he had said to his wife, ‘T wouldn’t 
mind it so much if Nora’s father and mother 
was living. But take a little whole orphan, 
with nobody but Maggie to look out for her, 
and then for him to go and scare her is too 
much. For how should she know he wasn’t 
the dangerous beast he looked P It must be 
a poor marshal they’ve got, to let him go on 
with his tricks.” 

But now, at his wife’s bidding, Mr. Cloo- 
non dismissed Bill from his talk, if not from 
his thoughts, and continued to walk on side- 
wise, the better to carry on the conversation. 
For Mr. Cloonon always liked to face his 

269 


Maggie McLanehan 


auditor as nearly as possible. He’s likely 
to know I mean him, if I’m looking at him,” 
Mr. Cloonon had been heard to remark. 
‘‘And I like to see how folks are taking 
what I say, anyway. If they don’t like it, I 
can talk about something else then, if it’s 
best. Sure, you don’t want to make other 
folks listen to what they don’t want to hear. 
For their ears are their own, and they’ve 
mostly got a right to choose what shall go 
into ’em. I seen a man once corner up a 
boy in the postoffice, and tell him all about 
something down Egypt way. I don’t rightly 
mind what it was, but sure, and if he’d 
looked at the boy he’d have stopped before 
he begun, for the boy didn’t care nothing 
about the subject.” 

Mrs. Cloonon, knowing well this pecu- 
liarity of her husband’s, took no notice of 
his sidling walk, but a great deal of notice 
of him; and she listened attentively to all 
he had to say. 

“ The book and paper store’s just ahead 
of us, Margret,” he remarked, when they had 
almost come to it. “And after that the 


270 


Maggie McLanehan 


lawyer’s office. You never get to the end 
of things in a town. There’s always some- 
thing coming after, and there’s worse things 
than a lawyer’s office, too, when you are on 
the right kind of business. You’ll stand 
below when we comes to it, while I goes up 
and brings the lawyer down. Most like he 
won’t be looking for us to-day, seeing ’twas 
only yesterday I was there. But I ain’t no 
Dave McLanehan to be doing things when 
they comes handy to me.” 

The lawyer was indeed surprised to see 
Mr. Cloonon so soon again, but upon learn- 
ing that Mrs. Cloonon, with Maggie and 
Nora, waited at the foot of the stairs, he at 
once took his hat and went down, and to- 
gether they all crossed the street to the court 
house, for Teepleton was the county seat. 

The clerk being disengaged when they 
entered, the lawyer was able to proceed 
promptly, and the business in hand being 
finished with dispatch, he was generously 
paid by his client on the spot; after which the 
party returned to the street, Mr. Cloonon 
walking more proudly than before, and 
271 


Maggie McLanehan 

even Mrs. Cloonon stepping with more 
dignity. 

“ 'Tis a guardian I am,” said Mr. Cloo- 
non, “ and Tm feeling fine over it. And now 
we’ll just go to Katie’s till it’s dinner time.” 

And to Katie’s they went, big bundle 
and all. 

“ Well, Barney ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Tom 
Cloonon, looking at the bundle. 

“ Sure, Katie, and he ain’t tired a bit,” 
said Mrs. Barney Cloonon, with smiling 
eyes, and a very serious face. For it ain’t 
heavy for him, do you see? But he’s that 
set up by getting to be guardian that I’m 
thinking a bag of stones would have no 
weight at all to him.” 

“No more set up than she is, Katie; for 
sure and she’s plumin’ herself that she’s the 
guardian’s wife,” retorted Mr. Cloonon. “ I 
seen her proud stepping in the streets, but 
I didn’t say nothing.” 

Then Mrs. Barney Cloonon had to be 
taken into Maggie’s room, and shown every- 
thing, including the sign in the window. 

After that Mollie came down prinked to 

272 


Maggie McLanehan 


her satisfaction, and following her, the boys, 
sleek and shining, and all three were made 
much of by Uncle Barney and Aunt Mar- 
gret. Their mother smiled as she looked 
on. Barney’s heart and Margret’s is big,” 
she thought. “ There’s room for Maggie 
and Nora without crowding Mollie and the 
boys a bit.” 

The talk went on very pleasantly till half- 
past eleven, when Mr. Barney Cloonon 
began to fidget. “ And how soon will 
Tom be coming home? ” he asked his sister- 
in-law. 

Not at all,” she replied. “ He’s got but 
an hour’s nooning, and he’ll come to Mrs. 
Martindale’s straight, where there’s a place, 
as Maggie tells me, for the men to wash 
up. You’ll have to take Tom in his work- 
ing clothes.” 

“ Sure, and I will then,” returned Mr. 
Barney Cloonon, graciously. “ Only let him 
bring a stomach for his dinner, and I’m sat- 
isfied. For it ain’t style we’re after, but a 
regular, good celebration. And since he 
ain’t coming, let us be going. I want to see 
273 


Maggie McLanehan 


what sort of a meal Mrs. Martindale has 
been getting up.’* 

Acting upon this suggestion, the whole 
party arose from their chairs, and prepared 
themselves for the street, Mrs. Cloonon hov- 
ering about her daughter Mollie, in anxiety 
to see that every pin was stuck so as to make 
her finery show to the best advantage. For 
though she scolded about Mollie’s idleness 
and extravagance, she was very proud of her. 

In a few moments all were on the way, 
Mr. Cloonon once more leading, this time 
with one of his brother’s sons on each side 
of him. 

It was not a long walk, to be sure, but 
they took their time, Mr. Cloonon setting 
the pace to suit his wife and sister-in-law, 
and every now and then glancing back at 
them over his shoulder, as they walked 
along absorbed in talk. “I’ll not hurry 
’em,” he thought. “ We’ll be there a little 
before twelve, let ’em walk ever so slow.” 

In truth, it was Mrs. Tom Cloonon who 
was the cause of the loitering, for she thought, 
as she leisurely set one foot before the other, 

274 


Maggie McLanehan 

“ When you’re going out for dinner, there’s 
no need to be making folks wonder if you’re 
running to a fire.” 

Mrs. Martindale was waiting at the door 
to receive them, and herself ushered them 
to a table especially prepared for them, 
first giving Maggie a cordial greeting, very 
much to Mr. Cloonon’s satisfaction. 

“ I can come back to you now any time, 
Mrs. Martindale,” whispered Maggie half- 
shyly. She hardly knew how to respond 
to so much favor and attention as she was 
receiving this day. 

‘‘ Come to-morrow, then,” was the reply. 

And now with a joyful heart Maggie took 
the seat assigned her at the table; for cele- 
brating to-day, with nothing assured for the 
morrow, was foreign to her thrifty mind. 
Work was to begin at once in her new life, 
and the money that was the wage of good 
work was, through her excellent guardian, 
secured to her. 

Simultaneously with the appearance of Mr. 
T om Cloonon, the dinner was brought on, and 
a bountiful one it was. For Mr. Barney 
275 


Maggie McLanehan 


Cloonon, after a private conversation with 
Mrs. Martindale, which had astonished him 
as to the resources of the restaurant, had 
given a sw^eeping order for everything. Every- 
thing was accordingly brought on — roast beef, 
roast goose, roast duck, scalloped oysters — 
and all sorts of vegetables and condiments. 

“There's times," remarked Mr. Barney 
Cloonon, as he took up the carving-knife, 
“when the ladies is to be waited on first. 
But this ain’t one of ’em. Tom’s the one 
to-day, for he’s but an hour to be with 
us. Tom,’’ he cried, with a beaming look, 
when he had filled a plate, “ fall to, man, 
with a will, remembering only that there’s 
pudding and pie and cake and ice-cream 
a-coming.’’ 

Mr. Tom Cloonon, a plain, quiet man, 
returning his prosperous brother’s look, 
obeyed, while Mrs. Tom Cloonon sat 
proudly by, and hoped that all the other 
people now trooping in for their dinner 
might see for themselves what sort of a man 
Barney was. 

“ He’s the one to have for a brother- 
276 


Maggie McLanehan 


in-lawj and an uncle to your children, and 
a guardian to Maggie and Nora/' she 
thought. ‘‘What sort of a doings would 
there have been if Dave McLanehan had 
got to be guardian? A fine dinner like this? 
Not a bit of it. Black looks for Maggie, 
and a driving hand over her, and tears, 
and an aching heart. And now look at her! 
Sure, she knows the good luck that's come 
to her, and her sitting there so smiling and 
modest." 

There was much gayety about the board, 
upon which the surrounding tables looked 
with an indulgent eye. For such genuine 
happiness as was depicted on every face was 
not to be seen every day. 

At last, however, the dinner was over, 
the bill paid, and the party, with the ex- 
ception of Mr. Tom Cloonon, on the way 
to Mr. Tom Cloonon's home, the young 
people gayly chatting and in the advance. 

“Ah, Barney," said Mrs. Tom Cloonon, 
soberly, “ this guardian business and the 
dinner has cost you something, I warrant." 

“Yes, but Katie, I've got ahead of them 

277 


Maggie McLanehan 


Dave McLanehans, and it’s worth every cent 
of it, for there’s nothing so sweet in life as 
getting ahead of a rascal. It’s quite like 
doing a good day’s work rooting out them 
shoe-string weeds in your meadow. Them 
weeds would like to get ahead of the good, 
honest grass, that puts in its time growing 
so’s to be ready for the cattle. But they gets 
their come-uppance every once in a while; 
and it beats all, too, how many rascals and 
weeds there are in the world.” 

Mr. Cloonon paused to survey with a 
smile the young people in front of them. 
Then he said, “What’s a bit of money to 
keeping them two children safe and happy, 
with a chance to do their best for themselves ? 
Ain’t that so, Margret ? ” 

“ Yes,” returned the wife, calmly. “ Let 
Barney have his way, Katie. ’Tis like to be 
a good one, as everybody knows that deals 
with him.” 

“ Hear to her, Katie ! ” said Mr. Cloonon, 
“and then see the hard life I have keeping 
my own conceit down, and all on account of 
having a wife that can see naught amiss in me.” 

278 


CHAPTER XXI 


'^HE whole party having now arrived at 
their destination, were just about to enter 
when they were espied by Bill, who at once 
rushed off to tell his mother of what he had 
seen. 

‘‘Pa didn't get Maggie! ” he announced, 
being apt at couching his information in such 
a form as to annoy and disturb his listener. 

“He didn't!” exclaimed Mrs. McLane- 
han, angrily, “ and why ? '' 

“ 'Cause she wasn't there.'' 

For a moment his mother stood busily 
thinking, while her frown darkened. “ 'Tis 
some trick !'' she cried at last. “ Most like she 
was hid somewhere, like she was to Mrs. Tom 
Cloonon's that time. And your father is 
always for believing everybody but his own 
wife. If it had been me that went after her, 
small good would it have done 'em saying 
she wasn't there. For where should she be, 
279 


Maggie McLanehan 


if not to them Barney Cloonons’ ? 'Tain't 
everybody that wants her and Nora.” 

“ Why, she’s here to home,” declared Bill, 
triumphantly. I just seen her.” 

“And why couldn’t you say so, you 
young rascal ? Givin’ me such a turn makin’ 
me think she’d got away, just when I’d found 
out how to have my silk dress made.” 

Bill grinned. He had annoyed his mother, 
he had successfully dodged the blow her 
heavy hand had aimed at him, and he was 
satisfied. And he now returned to the street, 
while his mother speedily recovered her good 
humor. “ I’ll have me a bonnet, too, while I’m 
about it,” she said. “ Little Katie has made 
them feathers on my old one look none the 
best. And a gold plated watch and chain 
won’t do no harm to my looks neither. I can 
get as much as I like. I’m thinkin’, for havin’ 
Maggie’s wages, my credit will be good. 
And I wonder how Dave come to miss her? 
But that’s no matter, seein’ she’s here.” 

Then she hastily dressed herself and went 
down town to look about her in the stores, and 
thus help her slow mind to decide on what 

280 


Maggie McLanehan 


other articles to add to her rapidly swelling 
list. And, by chance, her eyes fell upon the 
photographer’s display in a revolving glass 
case before his door. “ The very thing ! ” 
she said. “ I’ll have my picture took. 
That’ll prove, as long as there’s one of ’em 
left, that I’ve got a silk dress; and most like 
the photographer will put one of ’em in the 
case where everybody can see it, Mrs. Fla- 
herty and all. And may the sight be a good 
one for her, bad luck to her, that had her own 
picture took in a black cashmere and her hair 
that plain as if the cat had licked it. Most 
like she thinks flyin’ hair’s not the thing, but 
let her look at the fashion books and she’ll 
see. I’ve seen the day when I couldn’t abide 
one of them fashion books myself, and all on 
account of not bein’ able to have many of 
the things in ’em; for who is it that wants to 
see other folks have things that they can’t 
have ? ‘ Let me have ’em, or nobody,’ says 

I. But now, with Maggie cornin’. I’m quite 
in the notion of them fashion books, for 
they’re ever sayin’ to me what to buy.” 

She paused while she carefully scrutinized 

281 


Maggie McLanehan 

the remaining pictures in the case. ‘‘And 
here it is/’ she said. “The very last one, 
tucked down in the corner, that Mrs. Fla- 
herty herself. You can easy see what the 
photographer thought of her, cornin’ to him 
with the very looks of her tellin’ how she’s 
always scrubbin’ and diggin’ about her house 
till they say you can eat off the floor. He’ll 
not put my picture down in the corner where 
folks has to turn the case about to see it, 
for he knows what it is to have folks come to 
him in their silks.” 

Then, with her head up and her skirt held 
gingerly in one hand, she passed on. 

She had just reached home when, late in 
the afternoon, her husband arrived, hungry, 
tired, and angry. “ ’Tis a fool’s errand you 
sent me on,” he said, surlily. “ The girl’s 
gone, and I’ll do your biddin’ about her no 
more.” 

Mrs. McLanehan, however, seemed not 
in the least disturbed, as, without removing 
her bonnet, she slammed out a plate of cold 
meat on the bare table, and followed it with 
the loaf of bread and the knife, leaving 

282 


Maggie McLanehan 

Mr. McLanehan to slice it to suit himself. 
“ There’s a piece for you,” she said. “ When 
supper’s over, you can go and bring Mag- 
gie.” 

Her husband stared, while Mrs. McLane- 
han walked across the room and stood prink- 
ing before the cracked glass. “ Woman, are 
you crazy?” he demanded. “Look at the 
boots of me, mud to the ankle, and me all 
beat out. No; I goes no more after Mag- 
gie, to-night or any time. There’s no luck 
in it, and I’ve knowed it since ever I stepped 
in the hole in the sidewalk when I was goin’ 
after her. Besides, where should I go ? ” 

“ Down to the house where she lives, of 
course,” was the determined answer, as Mrs. 
McLanehan removed her bonnet and hung 
it carelessly on the back of a chair. “ She 
come home to-day. Bill seen her. Them 
Barney Cloonons is no doubt tired of her 
and Nora, and so brought ’em back. Don’t 
I know how folks a-visitin’ sits around and 
does nothing? I’d ought to, for I’ve thought 
of goin’ visitin’ many times, and would have 
done it only for not havin’ any place to go. 

283 


Maggie McLanehan 

But let me get my silk, and my watch and 
chain, and my picture took, and, no doubt, 
ril have plenty of chances. For there's 
nothin' hurts a body's chances in this world 
so much as havin' no fine things. And so, 
as I was sayin', you can go after Maggie when 
supper's over." 

‘‘Well," declared Mr. McLanehan, stub- 
bornly, “ you can say what you like. I goes 
no more out to-night. Not after Maggie, 
anyway. If she's there, she'll keep over 
night." 

To a certain extent Mr. McLanehan could 
be driven by his spouse, but there was a 
point at which he rebelled, and rebelled so 
firmly that Mrs. McLanehan knew better 
than to urge him further. She had reached 
that point now, and she saw it as she angrily 
retorted : “ That's the way with you. Always 
puttin' off and puttin' off. The girl will slip 
through our fingers yet." 

The battle might have ended here if Mr. 
McLanehan had not seen fit to continue it, 
which he did by saying, as he took an enor- 
mous bite of meat : “ Where'll she slip to, 

284 


Maggie McLanehan 


rd like to know ? She ain’t so small that 
she can’t be seen.” 

“ ’Tis like you, Dave McLanehan, to be 
jeopardizin’ all my fine things and carin’ 
naught about it. For what is it to you 
whether we rises in the world or not ? That 
Mrs. Flaherty may look down on me to the 
end of my days, and me wearin’ a bonnet 
like that, with little Katie streakin’ the feath- 
ers through her fingers and pullin’ bits of 
’em olf till the milliners is starin’ at me when 
I go past the shop window, and puttin’ any 
kind of a price on their goods, thinkin’ them 
that wears such things must have new ones 
at any cost.” 

‘‘ It’s better that you should teach Katie 
to keep her fingers from your feathers as 
always to be wantin’ new ones,” declared Mr. 
McLanehan, philosophically. 

“ And what’s the poor child to play with ?” 
demanded Mrs. McLanehan. “ Tell me 
that. She’s got that much life in her that 
she’s got to be doin’ something. And what’s 
a few feathers when you can get more ? ” 

‘‘True for you,” replied Mr. McLane- 
285 


Maggie McLanehan 


Han, aggravatingly. “ Feathers is of small 
account. The men don't need 'em, and the 
women can get along without 'em, too." 
Then he rose from the table, leaving little 
upon it but crumbs, put on his hat and went 
out. “ I'll need no supper, so you need not 
be waitin' it for me," he said, as he paused 
in the doorway. 

‘‘ Are you goin' after Maggie, after all ? " 
asked his wife, hopefully. 

‘‘ I'm not," said Mr. McLanehan. ‘‘ I'm 
a man of my word. When I say I'll not do 
a thing, I won't." 

Mrs. McLanehan was one of those who 
knew how to make her defeat even more un- 
comfortable for those around her than her 
victory could be, and that evening there were 
cuffs and black looks in plenty for the chil- 
dren. Even Bill received his share of both, 
and was glad to slink away to bed. ‘‘Wait 
till Maggie gets here!" he said to himself. 
“If there's cuffs goin', she'll get 'em. I wish 
she was here now." 

But Maggie was not there, nor would she 
ever be for all Bill's wishing. She was at 

286 







Maggie McLanehan 

that moment happily planning for the mor- 
row’s work, as she untied the big bundle and 
put away the garments it held, lingering a 
little over Nora’s red dress. For she had 
contrived a few minutes’ further talk with 
Mrs. Martindale, and was engaged to work 
at the restaurant every day for as many hours 
as she could give. And she was sure the 
hours would be many when once she had 
placed Nora in the kindergarten. “ It’s won- 
derful how good things comes to Nora and 
me,” she said, as she lay down to sleep. 

Mr. McLanehan, having defiantly left 
his home, went slouching along down town 
to spend the evening in a store. “ Let her 
sit to home by herself,” he thought. It’s 
like the women to leave the children spoil 
everything and then ask for more, till the men 
ain’t men any longer, but just machines to 
make money. And then throwin’ it in your 
teeth that you don’t bring in more, when 
you’re bringin’ all the dray line pays you.” 
Then he was hailed by a comrade, and the 
two went on together very companionably. 

But an evening of gossip will not last for- 
287 


Maggie McLanehan 


ever, and at half-past nine Mr. McLanehan 
reluctantly rose from his chair and started 
home. “ ril walk as slow as I can,’* he 
thought, ‘‘and maybe she’ll be abed and 
asleep when I get there. I’ve no mind to be 
bearin’ more to-night.” 

As he drew near, however, he saw that 
the light in his dwelling was still burning, 
and shining out through the uncurtained 
window. “ I’ll take an observation,” he said 
to himself. “ Maybe she’s just left it burn- 
ing for me.” Accordingly he tip-toed to 
where he could look in — a difficult and 
rather painful performance in his mud- 
stiffened boots. 

“ Luck’s against me,” he muttered. 
“ Look at her there where she sits with all 
them things spread out around her, and her 
face like a thunder cloud ! ” 

Yes, there she sat, surrounded by the 
debris of garments fit now only for the rag 
bag. Socks and stockings with the whole 
heel gone, and some torn in the leg; and all 
sorts of ragged undergarments and overgar- 
ments which she was making a pretense 

288 


Maggie McLanehan 

of repairing, with the assumed air of a 
martyr. 

“ I wish there was a back way of gettin’ 
up the stairs, ’’ said Mr. McLanehan, as he 
gazed. “ I wouldn’t be long trying it.” 

Awhile he waited, shifting his. weight 
from one foot to the other. Then he said, 
“If there was a porch just. I’d shin up one 
of the posts and go in over the roof But 
there ain’t, bad luck to the man that’ll ask 
rent for a house without a porch to it, when 
’most everybody has ’em. It’s no wonder 
I’m not payin’ him better. No conveniences 
at all, but to be goin’ in at the one door, 
since if you do go in at the back door there’s 
but one way of gettin’ up the stairs. And a 
nice state of things that is when a body wants 
to slip up quiet and peaceable and disturb 
nobody.” 

Awhile longer he waited. Then he said, 
“ There’s no good standin’ here. She’ll sit 
there till morning, I know by the look of 
her. I may as well go in and get it done 
with.” Accordingly he opened the door and 
stepped in. 


289 


Maggie McLanehan 


His wife looked up with a weary air.. 
“And is it you, Dave?” she said. “You 
may as well go on to bed and get your rest. 
Since Tm not to have Maggie, Til have to 
stay up the rest of the night mendin'.” 


290 


CHAPTER XXII 


TOY her pretense of mending did Mrs. 

McLanehan win the last battle with her 
husband in her campaign for the possession of 
Maggie. For, not perceiving her stratagem, 
Mr. McLanehan retired up the stairs discom- 
fited, his wife poising her needle in the air while 
she listened with satisfaction to his heavy 
tread. Never another stitch did she take, 
but continuing to listen until she heard her 
husband's snores, she stuck her needle in the 
garment she held, and rose from the chair. 

There was in the room a ragged old 
lounge which was now covered three deep 
by a choice assortment of articles, including 
Bill's hat and little Katie's shoes, but with 
one sweep of her strong arm they all found 
lodgment together on the floor, and Mrs. 
McLanehan lay down for the night. ‘‘If 
he thinks I'm up mendin', let him," she 
said; “the sooner he'll bring Maggie. I'm 

291 


Maggie McLanehan 

thinkin' I should have took to the mendin’ 
before.” 

The next morning Mr. McLanehan rose 
rested and a trifle ashamed of himself, and 
he descended the stairs prepared to make such 
amends as he could. ‘‘ For, sure,” he said, 
“there was an awful lot of that mendin’ she had 
on hand last night.” Moreover, having for the 
time forgotten the hole in the sidewalk and 
its evil portent, he was quite disposed to take 
his wife’s views of Maggie. 

“ I was a bit hasty last night,” he ad- 
mitted, “ and I don’t mind sayin’ I’ll go after 
the girl this evenin’ when supper’s over. I 
can’t go before, for I can’t miss another day’s 
work. And if I did, I probable wouldn’t 
find her to home, her bein’ of the sort that’s 
always oflF and at work, if there’s any work 
to be got.” 

At once Mrs. McLanehan’s brow cleared. 
“ And it’s a sensible man you are, Dave Mc- 
Lanehan, when you want to be,” she cried. 
“ I’ll not be sayin’ what you are other times.” 

“ Whisht, woman ! ” returned Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan. “ ’Tis not for the women to be 


292 


Maggie McLanehan 


sayin’ whether the men’s sensible or not. 
Let ’em stick to their own business of keep- 
in’ the house and leave the men alone.” And 
he rose from the table, stretching himself 
and yawning mightily. ‘‘ ’Tis a dog’s life 
I’m leadin’,” he said, ‘‘with all them boxes 
at the depot for me to be movin’. And them 
that hires me always givin’ me black looks 
for the reason I don’t work fast enough to 
suit ’em. If there’s them that moves two 
boxes to my one, let ’em. If I was rich I’d 
move none at all.” 

“ Ah,” returned his wife. “ We’ll not be 
rich, of course, but things will be easier like 
when once we get Maggie. I’ll have Bill 
spyin’ round to-day to see where she goes.” 

At once Bill snatched his hat and set 
out, playfully overturning his four-year-old 
brother as he passed him, and thus departing 
with the (to him) pleasing sound of angry 
wails in his ears. For Bill needed no urging 
on a task so much to his liking. And he 
presently came back to report that Maggie 
had gone to the restaurant, leaving little Nora 
behind in the care of Mrs. Cloonon. 


293 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mrs. McLanehan scowled. ‘‘ We’ll soon 
change all that,” she cried. ‘‘That Mrs. 
Martindale it was that refused to trust me 
for a dozen cream puffs but last week. I 
suppose she was thinkin’ that bread would 
do for the likes of us, and not that, neither, 
if we didn’t have the money ready for it. 
But let her make the most of Maggie, for 
to-day is the last day she shall have her.” 

Bill danced a few steps to show his pleas- 
ure, and then said: “ I’ll have my plug dog 
now, won’t I, ma ? ” 

“Yes, to be sure,” was the reply; “and 
many other things. But tell me if you seen 
Nora.” 

“ I did,” answered Bill. “ She was sittin’ 
by the window with a picture book, and I 
slipped up when she didn’t see me and 
knocked on the glass. You’d ought to seen 
her ! She jumped till her book fell on the 
floor. Then I made a face at her, and she 
cried, and Mrs. Cloonon chased me off.” 

“That’s the way,” said Mrs. McLane- 
han in an injured tone. “ Some people are 
always thinkin’ they can boss other people’s 

294 


Maggie McLanehan 


children, and Mrs. Cloonon’s one of 'em. 
rd like to know what right she had to chase 
you ? When you need 'tendin' to, I can do 
it myself. I'm thinkin'." 

Thus upheld. Bill returned, elated, to the 
street, where he made himself more than usu- 
ally a nuisance for the remainder of the day, 
going home only long enough to eat his 
dinner. 

“ Now, Maggie dear," said Mrs.Cloonon 
when the young girl came home in the after- 
noon, ‘‘ 'tis well you should know your Uncle 
Dave has by no means give you up yet. Bill 
was telling in the street this morning how his 
father had walked all the way down to Bar- 
ney's after you yesterday. And sure, that 
was the tramp for a lazy bones like him. 
Eighteen miles before he was done with it, 
and no doubt each one seeming five to him. 
'Twas myself seen him in the street yester- 
day morning, and a sour look there was on 
him, too. Most like he was thinking of 
the walk ahead of him. Well, his walk's took 
and done with, and I'm thinking he'll maybe 
295 


Maggie McLanehan 

be here this evening. He will if his wife can 
drive him to it. So get Nora to bed early, 
and then get yourself out of sight, and leave 
him to me to manage. There’s no use an- 
gering him more than we have to, you know. 
And it’s the way of the young to speak out 
’most too plain, and say with every look of 
’em, as well as with their words, ‘ I will do 
this,’ and ‘ I won’t do that.’ And such a way 
is not for a stupid man like that Dave Mc- 
Lanehan. ’Tis better to walk around him, 
like I once seen a woman get a goose out of 
her garden. She done it that slick that the 
goose was outside before he knew it, and 
wondering how it all come about that there 
he was, and the gate was shut. And so I’m 
thinking I’d best deal with your Uncle 
Dave. You’re safe now, thanks to Barney, 
without need of any fuss; for sure, when 
your Uncle Dave hears Barney’s your guar- 
dian he’ll know there’s no more to be said. 
But he’d best be told politely, and not flat 
out, do you see.” 

Maggie smiled. She felt no fear. Her 
trust in her good guardian was too confiding 

296 


Maggie McLanehan 


for that. And Mrs. Cloonon seeing this, 
smiled back at her. ’Tis a pleasure to do 
for you, Maggie. Did you know it ? ” she 
said. ‘‘ I’m not doubting Barney will get 
his money’s worth many times over.” 

Then Maggie’s face grew serious. She 
suddenly remembered seeing Mr. Cloonon 
paying out money in the clerk’s office, but 
she had given no heed to it as she stood at 
one of the windows with Mrs. Cloonon and 
Nora. And now she said, ‘‘Did it take 
money to get to be my guardian ? ” 

“To be sure it did,” answered Mrs. 
Cloonon. “ There’s few things in the world 
that don’t cost money. But what of it, 
when Barney’s got the money and will never 
miss it .f* Think no more about it if you wish 
to please him. ’Twas stupid of me to speak 
of it.” 

Maggie said no more, but in her heart 
she added to the strength of her already 
strong determination to lose no chance of 
doing something in return for Mr. and Mrs. 
Barney Cloonon. 

Then she sat down to sew on a new apron 

297 


Maggie McLanehan 


for herself. “ You need plenty of aprons to 
the restaurant,” she said. I’m glad Miss 
Perkham showed me about my sewing.” 

The lamp was lit, the little Nora was in 
bed and asleep, and the remains of a fire in 
the cooking-stove diffused a gentle warmth 
through the room, which would otherwise 
have been chilly, when Mr. McLanehan’s 
expected knock sounded on Maggie’s door. 

“ Listen to it ! ” said Mrs. Cloonon, as 
she rose from her chair. ’Tis as impudent 
a knock as ever I heard, seeming to say, 
‘’Tis my own door I’m knocking on, and 
all that’s inside is mine’” She stayed her 
steps. “ Let’s hear it again,” she said. 

In a moment she heard it again, and then 
she opened the door. 

“ Good evening, Mr. McLanehan,” said 
Mrs. Cloonon, politely. “And is it yourself? 
Walk in and have a chair.” 

Mr. McLanehan walked in, glancing 
about him as he did so in search of Maggie. 

“ And how’s yourself and family ? ” con- 
tinued Mrs. Cloonon, as she seated Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan and took a chair herself. 

298 


Maggie McLanehan 


“ Ah ! *’ said Mr. McLanehan, ‘‘ they’re 
very well. But I don’t see Maggie.” 

‘‘No more you don’t,” replied Mrs. 
Cloonon, “and all on account of her not 
being to home this evening.” 

This was strictly true, Mrs. Cloonon 
having sent her to the restaurant, with in- 
structions to stay there till such time as she 
should call for her, which would be as soon 
as Mr. McLanehan had gone home. 

“My wife thought she was hiding from 
me in your part of the house one time I was 
here,” observed Mr. McLanehan, artlessly. 

“Women sometimes think strange things 
now, don’t they ? ” answered Mrs. Cloonon, 
as she rose and threw wide the dividing door. 
“Would you like to walk into my kitchen 
and look for yourself? ” she asked. “ I give 
you my word Maggie’s not in the house.” 

“ I might as well look,” thought Mr. 
McLanehan, “ or Bridget won’t believe she 
wasn’t there.” 

Accordingly he got up from his chair, 
advanced to the door, and scanned the or- 
derly kitchen, which was, in all respects, most 

299 


Maggie McLanehan 


unlike the same room in his own home. 
“ She ain’t there, sure enough,” he said. 

‘‘No more she ain’t,” returned Mrs. 
Cloonon, pleasantly. “ And so I was telling 
you. But you can talk with me, Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan, and I’ll tell her what you say, if 
you want me to.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Mr. McLanehan, 
waveringly. “ I was told to bring her home 
with me. I’ve been more than once after 
her. My wife thinks she’s needing a guar- 
dian, you see.” 

Mrs. Cloonon made no reply, but her air 
invited further confidence, and Mr. McLane- 
han gave it. “My wife says she’d ought to 
have somebody to look after her, you see, 
and not be out in the world lookin’ after her- 
self, and a three-year-old child hangin’ onto 
her besides. Don’t you think this idea of 
Maggie havin’ a guardian is a good one ? ” 
he inquired. 

“ I do,” responded Mrs. Cloonon; “ and 
there’s others has thought the same thing.” 

At once Mr. McLanehan’s manner grew 
lofty, for he was one of those whom assent 


Maggie McLanehan 


only makes conceited, and who need to be 
constantly nourished on a strong diet of 
snubs. ^‘And that’s not at all strange, nei- 
ther,” he said. IVe noticed whenever I 
have a good idea, there’s them that tries to 
get hold of it and pass it off for their own. 
But who are them others you was mention- 
in’ ? ” 

“ Why,” replied Mrs. Cloonon, ‘‘ they’re 
my husband’s brother, Barney, and his wife, 
Margret. 

Mr. McLanehan nodded. Maggie’s 
been down to their house visitin’, I hear. 
No doubt they seen she needed a guardian. 
Well, she’ll soon be havin’ one now.” 

Sure, and she’s got one,” returned Mrs. 
Cloonon. 

“ Got one ! ” repeated Mr. McLanehan, 
in a daze. “ What d’ye mean f* Sure, I ain’t 
got to be a guardian without knowin’ it, 
have I ? ” 

Oh, no,” answered Mrs. Cloonon. 

’Tis Barney, my husband’s brother, that’s 
her guardian.” 

For a little time Mr. McLanehan was 


301 


Maggie McLanehan 


speechless. Then he said, softly, as if half 
to himself: ‘‘Bridget was sayin* she’d slip 
through our fingers, and she has, too. I 
wouldn’t have believed it.” Then he grew 
fierce. “ What business has that Barney 
Cloonon cornin’ and interferin’ between me 
and mine ? What does he expect to make 
by it? ” he demanded. 

“ Why, nothing but his own pleasure and 
Margret’s,” was the cheerful response. 

“ And he’s hired her out to the restau- 
rant,” said Mr. McLanehan, reflectively, 
“and will be takin’ her wages, of course. I 
see it all now. A pretty guardian, he is, to 
leave her here, livin’ alone ! ” 

“ Oh, she ain’t alone,” responded Mrs. 
Cloonon, with admirable self-control. “ She’s 
here in the house with me, and I look after 
her. But Barney didn’t hire her out to Mrs. 
Martindale, neither does he take her wages. 
I can’t hear one of the best men in the world 
spoke against like that, Mr. McLanehan. 
Barney’s got plenty of money of his own ; 
and if he hadn’t, he’d never take Maggie’s.” 

Then Mr. McLanehan looked incredu- 


302 


Maggie McLanehan 


lous. “ ’Tis strange words you’re speakin’, 
Mrs. Cloonon,” he observed, rising to go; 
“ but if Maggie’s got a guardian, there’s no 
more to be said. Was she took before the 
coorts ? ” 

‘‘ Most certainly not,” was the answer. 
‘‘Then I’ll snap my fingers at Mr. Bar- 
ney Cloonon ! ” exclaimed Mr. McLanehan, 
his confidence returning. “ I’ll be her guar- 
dian yet. I’ve got to be, or Bridget will be 
takin’ on at a great rate and doin’ the mendin’. 
She’s set on it, d’ye see P ” 

“ I said she wasn’t took before the court, 
because there’s no court just now, Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan,” explained Mrs. Cloonon. “ But 
she was took before the clerk of the court, 
and Barney had a lawyer, so it’s done right.” 

Then Mr. McLanehan departed, saying 
as he passed through the door: “ ’Twas a 
bad day when Maggie went visitin’ to the 
country.” He was half-way to the street, 
when he suddenly turned to ask, “ What’s to 
be done with Nora? ” 

“ Oh, Barney’s guardian to her, too,” was 
the pleasant answer. 


303 


Maggie McLanehan 


Mr. McLanehan stared. “ Sure, the man’s 
daft/’ he said. ‘fGettin’ to be guardian to 
a child like that, that won’t be worth nothin’ 
to anybody for years to come, and maybe 
never, if she don’t turn out to be a worker.” 

And still shaking his head over the fool- 
ishness of Mr. Barney Cloonon, Mr. Mc- 
Lanehan went home and made his report to 
his wife. 


304 


CHAPTER XXIII 


t'OR weeks there was wrangling in the 
McLanehan home over the loss of Mag- 
gie. Sullen sulks gave place to angry words, 
and were succeeded by sulks again, but all 
to no purpose. Even the frequent cuffs be- 
stowed upon Bill, to his most uncomfortable 
astonishment, were but a slight relief to Mrs. 
McLanehan. 

‘‘ The girl won’t be of age for over two 
years, and all her wages for that time them 
Barney Cloonons will have, when by rights 
they should be ours,” Mrs. McLanehan be- 
gan on Monday and repeated every other 
day of the week, though with smaller effect 
on her husband than she liked. For, while 
Mr. McLanehan did not venture to dispute 
this statement in words, he had slipped back 
to his old opinion, and might often have been 
heard muttering to himself, ‘‘One swallow 
don’t make a summer,” and “ That Barney 
305 


Maggie McLanehan 

Cloonon ain’t so smart, neither, or he’d have 
took an average, so he would, and wouldn’t 
have got to be guardian to Nora.” 

And one day his wife overheard him. 
“And a great one you are, Dave McLane- 
han, to be talkin’ about that Barney Cloonon. 
He may be smart, or he may not be, but he 
was smart enough to get ahead of you. Al- 
though, as you say, that wouldn’t take so 
much smartness after all. Look at the losses 
you’ve brought on me ! Enough to craze a 
woman. ’Twas but yesterday the last yard 
of that green silk was sold, and the best bon- 
net in the milliner shop. And I’ve still to 
be goin’ about the streets like the fright that I 
am, and bearin’ the people say, without so 
much as lookin’ at me, ‘Oh, ’tis but Mrs. 
McLanehan, wife to Dave McLanehan. ’Tis 
him that provides little, and balks her when 
she would provide for herself’ ” 

“ Whisht, woman ! How do you know 
the people are talkin’ like that ? ” 

“ By the looks of ’em, to be sure. And 
my picture not to be in the case puttin’ to 
shame that poor one of Mrs. Flaherty’s in 

306 


Maggie McLanehan 


the lowest corner! And all my furniture 
gone, and naught fit to be seen in the house ! 
’Tis as bad as if we’d had a fire and no in- 
surance, so it is.” 

Mr. McLanehan looked at her with scorn 
and contempt. ‘‘ ’Tis myself that can’t see 
how you’ve ^lost all them things when you 
never had ’em,” he said. 

Had ’em 1 ” screamed his wife ; “ I all 
but had my fingers on ’em. ’Twas losin’ 
Maggie lost me all them. But you’re a 
dumm man, Dave McLanehan, and can see 
naught unless it’s laid before you, like six 
slices of bacon or a half a pound of butter.” 

I can see what’s to be seen,” said Mr. 
McLanehan, doggedly, as well as any man 
goin’. You needn’t be blamin’ my eyes, 
which is good ones. And while eyes is all 
right in their place, ’tis ears that worries a 
man. For, sure, I can hear the roof clat- 
terin’ about my head three times a day as 
soon as ever I step in at the door till I’m 
glad to be steppin’ out again.” 

So saying, he stepped out and away. 

But of these disturbances in her uncle’s 


307 


Maggie McLanehan 


house Maggie was ignorant as she worked 
cheerfully on at the restaurant, receiving in 
return for her services a good wage, together 
with meals for herself and Nora. 

And now Thanksgiving time came on. 
The day before, Mr. Barney Cloonon drove 
up to town with the farm wagon, commis- 
sioned by his wife to bring back with him 
Mr. Tom Cloonon and his family, as well as 
Maggie and Nora. 

“ And, Maggie,” said Mr. Cloonon, ‘‘your 
Aunt Margret wants you to bring your things 
and Nora's and stay the rest of the winter. 
I’ve fixed it all right with Mrs. Martindale. 
She’ll let you go, though, of course, she hates 
to, and small blame to her.” 

“ But, Uncle Barney — ” began Maggie. 

“Your Aunt Margret,” went on Mr. 
Cloonon, ignoring the interruption, “ is sort 
of poorly, and she says she’s needing you.” 

Then Maggie’s face looked anxious. 
“She’s not sick. Uncle Barney?” she cried. 
“ Don’t tell me that.” 

“No,” was the answer, “not sick, but 
poorly just. Will you come ? ” 

308 


Maggie McLanehan 


“To be sure and I will. What wouldn’t 
I do for you and Aunt Margret.? ” 

Mr. Barney Cloonon smiled. “ I told 
Margret you’d come,” he said. “ And now 
’tis but fair to you to say that she’ll have to 
be a lot sicker than she is before she’s in any 
danger, and for that matter, a lot more poorly 
than she is before she’s sick at all. She’s 
just wanting you; and you’ll find some day, 
Maggie, that just to be wanting and not get- 
ting what you want will make a body poorly, 
so that their meals don’t taste good to ’em, 
as they’d ought to. Margret says you can 
do all that’s needed nights and mornings and 
Saturdays, and you’re to go to school. I’m 
telling you so’s you can bring any books with 
you you may need. ’Tis a good school we’ll 
be having down our way this winter, for 
we’ve got the good teacher.” 

Then Maggie’s eyes shone. “ It’s a tease 
you are. Uncle Barney,” she said, “talking 
to me about Aunt Margret’s being poorly. 
But I’m coming, so I am.” And joyfully 
she hastened away to buy the boys’ old school 
books from Mrs. Tom Cloonon. 


309 


Maggie McLanehan 

“Why, rd like to give ’em to you,” ob- 
jected Mrs. Cloonon. 

“ Yes, but I want to buy ’em. Don’t say 
me nay,” begged Maggie. 

“Well, then, I won’t,” returned Mrs. 
Cloonon; “for I’ll be honest and own I’m 
needing the money. But never a word to 
Barney, Maggie dear. He helps us enough 
as it is. Not a month in the year but he’s 
giving us something; but living in town with 
three children, and only their father’s hands 
to be earning for us all, makes us have a good 
use for all we can honestly come by.” 

Maggie nodded. She knew well the fam- 
ily struggles, and she still wondered how 
pretty Mollie Cloonon could be so idle and 
so blind. As for Mollie’s brothers, who were 
both younger than she, Maggie knew little 
about boys and what ought to be expected 
of them, and so forbore to judge. 

An hour later she went to Mrs. Cloonon 
again. “ I’ve been talking with Uncle Bar- 
ney,” she said, “and he says, leave the 
things where they are, and pay the rent; for 
’twill be best for me to keep the room here 
310 


Maggie McLanehan 

with you. So will you kindly use it and 
everything in it all you like while I’m gone? 
You’ve been so good to me.” And Maggie 
looked coaxingly at the large, plain woman 
who had indeed been good to her — how good 
she was too young to understand. 

Mrs. Cloonon was touched. ‘‘ I will,” 
she answered, ‘‘and I thank you, too. I’ll 
own now four rooms was pretty cramped 
for five of us. ’Tis a good girl you are. 
But listen ! ’Tis Barney giving the word 
that it’s time for us all to be starting.” 

Then began a pleasant scramble for wraps 
and the various parcels that were to be taken 
along, while Mr. Barney Cloonon sat waiting 
on the high seat of the farm wagon, wearing 
his broadest smile and having his brother 
Tom beside him. 

And the smile was not only still there, 
but was reinforced by its duplicate on every 
face in the wagon, as the young horses, more 
lively than usual in the frosty air, dashed 
off through the town and out on the well- 
known road that lay between the fields. No 
green in sight now anywhere, but, in the 
3 “ 


Maggie McLanehan 


distance, jstacks of straw and hay, and every- 
where upturned earth or brown stubble. 

Hi 

All that winter Maggie worked hard, now 
at the simple housewotk, now sewing, and 
now studying. And she found herself slower 
than she could have wished in getting con- 
trol of her mind. “But I’ll stick to it!” 
she said. “ I’m gaining. I can see it. And 
when I go back to work in town at Mrs. 
Martindale’s I’ll never leave off the study- 
ing, for, by that time. I’ll have the hang of 
it and can do it at odd times, even if I can’t 
go to school, which I can’t of course.” 

And at all Maggie’s efforts Mrs. Cloonon 
looked on well satisfied. “ I was wanting to 
give her a start at the studying,” she remarked 
to her husband, “and it’s the teacher that 
tells me she’s doing fine.” 

“And there’s nothing surprising in that, 
either,” returned Mr. Cloonon. “Them 
that puts their minds to their work is apt to 
be doing fine. There ain’t so much differ- 
ence in the smartness of folks, you’ll find, 
though I’ll own there is more or less, and in 

312 


Maggie McLanehan 


some cases, more than in others. But the 
big difference comes in in what the teacher 
calls disposition^ which is only another way 
of saying that some is lazy shirks, and some 
ain't.’' 

‘‘True for you, Barney. And now will 
you look at this white apron Maggie's made 
me? I’m proud to wear it, so I am." 

Attentively Mr. Cloonon looked as he 
was bid. He saw that the apron was white, 
and that was all that he did see. But he 
gave it unstinted praise, nevertheless, even 
going to the length of saying, “ I never seen 
no finer one, Margret"; at which his wife 
smiled, well pleased. 

In the spring Maggie went back to the 
restaurant with several new dishes on her list 
which she could cook to perfection, among 
them an Irish stew, which was so enthusias- 
tically received by Mrs. Martindale's patrons 
that she at once raised Maggie's wages by 
half. 

“ She’s worth any other two girls I can 
hire," said Mrs. Martindale to Mr. Cloonon, 
who, in his important office of guardian, had 
313 


Maggie McLanehan 

come to make inquiries. “ She can turn her 
hand to anything, and is willing to do it in 
slack times. And if I wish to step out, IVe 
only to call Maggie to the counter.” 

“ True for you,” returned Mr. Cloonon, 
much gratified. 

“ It’s no trouble at all to be guardian to 
Maggie,” he told his wife. “ I’ve only to 
ask a few questions now and then, just to be 
sure all’s right, and I’m finding it is every 
time.” 

There was one fault to be found with 
Teepleton which could not be gainsaid even 
by its most enthusiastic lover — it was entirely 
too warm for comfort in summer. And Mrs. 
Cloonon often remarked that she had no 
doubt there were cooler places on the earth, 
always ending with, But they’re not for the 
likes of us. So we must just do the best we 
can with the weather, knowing it wouldn’t be 
quite so bad if there wasn’t so many kitch- 
ens with fires going in ’em.” 

It was the first day of summer, and she 
had just ended her familiar speech. ‘‘ Indeed, 
and there are too many kitchens,” agreed 
314 


Maggie McLanehan 


Maggie, “ for there are two in this very 
house, Mrs. Cloonon. And if you’ll let me 
use your stove what little I shall need, we’ll 
do away with mine.” 

“ Sure and I will,” returned Mrs. Cloonon, 
heartily. 

“Then I’ll store little Nora’s cooking- 
stove and get some matting for the floor, and 
we’ll have my room for a little parlor for us 
all,” said Maggie. “’Twill do very well, 
barring the bed, and that we must leave in, 
of course.” 

Mrs. Cloonon regarded the young girl 
with strong approval. “ ’Tis yourself is the 
planner,” she said. “And I’ll own now I’m 
tired of sitting in the kitchen in the sum- 
mer.” 

“Then I’ll get the matting to-day,” de- 
clared Maggie. 

“ ’Tis a wonderful girl she is,” observed 
Mrs. Cloonon to herself, when Maggie had 
gone out again. “ Always giving back what- 
ever kindness she can whenever she gets the 
chance. There’s them that says, ‘ Some other 
chance will do,’ and so they never does any- 


Maggie McLanehan 

thing. But Maggie says, ‘This is the very 
chance, so it is,' and she's always doing some- 
thing. She knows a kitchen is a hot place, 
and there's no yard here, either, unless you 
goes out to the back door, where you can 
see naught but livery barns, and hear the 
horses stamping. And now here I've got a 
cooler room to sit in, to say nothing of being 
able to hold up my head before all callers. 
'Tis something better to be saying, ‘And 
will you walk in, ma'am ? ' when you're stand- 
ing on a nice matting than it is when your 
feet's on naught but a bare kitchen floor." 

That summer Nora went again to the 
kindergarten, while Maggie prospered finely, 
to the delight of all the Cloonons, old and 
young. For Mollie had taken a great liking 
for the new family parlor, and had moreover 
discovered that Maggie was always willing 
to lend her the very choicest ribbon she had. 

July was but half gone when Mollie 
began to be less idle, and she even went so 
far as to earn a trifle for herself at fancy 
work, for which she had a great aptitude and 
nimble fingers. And her mother, looking 

316 


Maggie McLanehan 


at her as she sat contentedly stitching away 
in the new parlor, blessed Maggie and her 
influence. “For,’' she said, “ 'tis Seeing 
Maggie so busy has put Mollie in the notion 
of working at last.” 

In the late fall Mr. Barney Cloononcame 
again for Maggie and Nora, and took them 
home with him for the winter. 

“And is Aunt Margret poorly. Uncle 
Barney? ” asked Maggie, with mock anxiety. 

“Just the same as she was last winter, 
Maggie,” laughed Mr. Cloonon. “You 
know she couldn’t have got on without you, 
and ’tis just the same now, and she’s think- 
ing you need more schooling besides.” 

Then Maggie laughed merrily. “ So I do. 
Uncle Barney,” she cried, “and I’m glad to 
get it, too. But it’s no use telling you and 
Aunt Margret how kind you are, for you’ll 
neither of you believe it.” 

Mr. Cloonon smiled. “And did you 
ever hear, Maggie,” he said, “how it done 
folks a lot of good just to hear what they’d 
like to believe? And of course we’d like to 
believe we was kind, if we could.” 


317 


Maggie McLanehan 


That winter the Dave McLanehans 
moved away, and Maggie never saw them 
again. Though they had done their best to 
blight her life and Nora’s for their own 
benefit, Maggie forgot it all and remembered 
only that her Uncle Dave was her father’s 
brother. For Bill she could not help feeling 
an aversion. He had terrified little Nora 
too many times. 

Life at the farm was not only full, but 
rose-colored for Maggie that second winter. 
For she was more skillful in the use of both 
hands and brain, and so had more time for 
recreation. And many were the sleigh rides 
and spelling bees and “ literaries ” that she 
attended, at all of which she was a prime 
favorite. 

“ Will I always be having such a good 
time all my life long. Aunt Margret?” she 
asked, one evening when she was waiting for 
a sleighing party to call for her. 

‘‘And I hope so,” was the affectionate 
reply. 

“ Now, Margret,” protested Mr. Cloonon, 
who was, as usual, close at hand, “ what’s the 


Maggie McLanehan 


use of answering her like that. To be sure 
she’ll have a good time as long as there’s any 
people on the earth. Of course, if they 
should die off, and she be left alone like, she 
wouldn’t, for half her good time comes from 
helping other folks to enjoy themselves.” 

Then he turned to Maggie herself ‘‘ But 
listen ! ” he said. “ There come the sleigh- 
bells a-jingling ! On with your things and 
don’t keep the young folks waiting ! And 
you to be wondering if you’ll always have a 
good time ! Just keep living right along, 
and you’ll find out.” 

And Maggie keeps right on living, and 
every day she finds out. 


THE END 


319 


















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